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btty or 

The Old Grudge 

I By J. H. Connelly. 

Illustrated by e. whitney. 



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A German Detective Novel. 


THE TELL-TALE WATCH 

(Der Lebende hat Recht.) 

FROM THE GERMAN OF 

GEORGE HOCKER 

BY 

META DE VERE. 

WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY JAMES FAGAN. 

12mo. 350 Pages. Handsomely Bound in Cloth. Price, $1.00. 
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will satisfy the taste for a mystery which, in the beginning, seems 
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For sale by all booksellers and newsdealers, or sent, postpaid, 
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HETTY OR THE OLD GRUDGE. 



HETTY, OR THE OLD GRUDGE 


31 Nootl. 




H. CONNELLY. 




WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY E. WHITNEY. 


%;T31 1893 


NEW YORK: 

ROBERT BONNER’S SONS, 


wa»h\'^ 




PUBLISHERS. 


THE LEDGER LIBRARY : ISSUED SEMI-MONTHLY. SUBSCRIPTION PRICE, TWELVE DOLLARS PER ANNUM. NO. 96, 
NOVEMBER 1j 1698. ENTERED AT THE HEW YORK, N. Y., POST OFFICE AS SECOND CLASS MAIL MATTER. 


vA 


COPYBiaHT, 1892 and 1893, 

BY ROBERT BONNER’S SONS. 


(All rights reserved.) 



OUR HETTY. 


CHAPTER l._ 

ON THE “ devil’s BACKBONE.” 

NOTABLY strange formation, 
among the scenic beauties of 
Western Pennsylvania, is the 
wall-like hill locally known as 
the Devil’s Backbone, which is 
thrown half across the Rac- 
coon Creek Valley. Though 
its elevation is hardly more 
than five hundred feet, the 
abruptness with which it rises 
out of the meadow-lands, the straightness and 
length of the lofty line its summit makes against 
the sky and the absence of near rival eminences 

[ 7 ] 



8 


OUR HETTY. 


cause it to seem, when viewed from the valley, 
a real mountain. Its top, for a length of about 
two miles, is level and straight, and is traversed 
by a road, one of the most charming drives 
imaginable, and not by any means so difficult of 
access as might be expected, since the slope at 
the end of the hill is so gradual that teams, 
drawing loaded wagons, ascend it with little 
difficulty. Through an alley of tall trees it runs, 
their boughs arching overhead and their dead 
leaves carpeting it. Smaller trees and shrubs 
fill the spaces between their great trunks, and 
make a wall of foliage on either side, through 
rifts in which, here and there, glimpses are 
afforded of blue sky and fleecy-white clouds 
drifting across it. Nowhere is the summit more 
than four or five rods in width. 

One flank of the hill is steep, but not beyond 
a skillful and daring climber's scaling. The 
other, however, is like a stupendous wall. 
Denuded of its mask of foliage, that rocky face 
would be seen scarred, seamed and wrinkled by 
ages of passive resistance to the destroying 
forces of nature. Rain, frost, sunshine and wind 
have graved deeply their traces upon it. But, 
while the summer lasts at least, it is fresh and 
fair. 

During all the season of foliage and bloom, 
one looking up from the valley can descry 
nothing of that time-furrowed face, but only its 
vivid mask from the summit down to the base ; 


ON THE “ devil’s BACKBONE.’ 


9 


where the crystal creek has undermined it and 
where fishes, alarmed by the cattle plashing 
among the gravel on the farther side of the pool, 
dart across the reflected sky and through the 
inverted forest to find refuge among the never- 
lifting black shadows far beneath the rocks. All 
the nooks and crannies in that rugged wall are 
full of life. Foxes have their hiding-places in 
the caves ; birds build their nests in safety in 
spots accessible only to things with wings ; chip- 
munks and squirrels frolic and bark among the 
branches ; snakes sun themselves on exposed 
points of rocks ; owls blink and ponder in the 
deepest shadows ; bees store their golden sweets 
secure from all despoilers ; myriads of Nature’s 
wild children here find homes, safe from each 
other and from the common enemy, man. 

Late in the afternoon of a short, autumnal day, 
John Cameron, returning homeward from hunt- 
ing in the distant hills, strode along the Devil’s 
Backbone toward the valley. A big bunch of 
gray-squirels upon his right shoulder showed 
that he had had good success ; but evidently his 
hunt was not yet over. He moved almost noise- 
lessly, his rifle lay ready on his left fore-arm, and 
he was keenly alert for any sight or sound betok- 
ening the presence of game. To his ears came 
the sigh of the forest, that is never hushed, and, 
through it the impudent barking of a foolish 
squirrel that, having caught sight of him, must 
needs proclaim the fact to the universe, instead 


10 


OUR HETTY. 


of prudently scampering away in silence to a 
place of safety. The crack of John’s rifle sound- 
ing strangely small and sharp away up there 
where there was nothing to echo it, put an 
abrupt stop to the barking, and a little gray, 
furry lump tumbled from the top of a hickory 
tree to the ground, at the very brink of the preci- 
pice, and lay motionless. In the very att of 
stooping to pick up his game, John’s keen eye 
caught sight of a thin, dirty-white, cotton string, 
tied to a little bush, close to the ground. It had 
been covered by leaves, and would have remained 
unseen, had not the squirrel’s body knocked 
them away and exposed it. 

Why should anybody have tied a string there ? 
He laid down his gun and proceeded to investi- 
gate, hauling in two or three yards of the slack 
of the string which dangled over the face of the 
cliff. Then it broke. 

“ What the mischief is at the other end of it?” 
muttered John to himself. 

He laid down, and, thrusting his body out 
perilously far over the edge of the precipice, 
tried in vain to see, among the rocks and bushes 
below, what held the other end of the string. 
Fifty feet below, a large hickory-tree seemed to 
be firmly rooted in a ledge of earth among the 
rocks, and one of its strong branches was only 
a few feet beyond his reach. He calculated that 
if he could get hold of that branch he might 
safely swing down by it to a dogwood tree of 


ON THE “ devil’s BACKBONE.” 


11 


smaller size, on the ledge he wished to reach. 
Of course, if his hold gave way, or the branch 
broke, he would go on down to the bottom of 
the precipice, and probably break everything 
frangible in his anatomy. But if he did not take 
that risk, he could not learn what was at the 
other end of the string. That settled the ques- 
tion of his making the attempt. Having in view 
a possible shot at a fox or rattlesnake when he 
got down there, he lowered his rifle by the string, 
to the ledge he purposed reaching. Then, by 
means of a long forked stick, he drew in to him 
the hickory branch, clutched it, swung off, and 
made the descent he had planned in safety. But 
the elucidation of the mystery had not yet been 
attained. The string continued on, still farther 
down, passing through a crevice in the rock, into 
which it had doubtless been blown by the wind 
when dangling free — and he had to make a second 
descent, even more perilous than the first, to 
reach a still lower ledge. This, too, he effected 
safely, having first sent his gun down ahead 
of him, as before, and at length he found the 
other end of the string. 

It was tied to a small but heavy parcel, close- 
ly wrapped in a cloth that, as he unrolled it, 
seemed to bear blood-stains. Eleven solid silver 
spoons and a gold watch were in the package. 
Carefully wound around the watch, to protect 
it from dampness, was a strip of oiled silk, two 
feet long and three inches wide, upon which he 


12 


OUR HETTY. 


made out the initials, “ W. S.,” scratched as if by 
a pin-point. The watch was well worn, but had 
no marks by which it might be identified, ex* 
cepting, perhaps, its number. Engraved upon 
the spoons, in florid, interlaced lines, was a mon- 
ogram that might have been “ R. B. W.” or any 
other possible combination of those three letters. 

“Mighty!” exclaimed John. “If * finds is 
keeps,’ as the boys say, it was worth while clam- 
bering down here.” 

Thrusting his prize in his pocket, and seeing 
no sign of a fox or any other game, he began 
casting about for means to get back to the top 
of the cliff. It is generally easier, in hill-climb- 
ing, to ascend than to descend safely, and, know- 
ing this, he had not until now troubled himself 
about how he should return ; but all rules have 
their exceptions, and he quickly realized that 
this was an exceptional case. Even if he could 
have got back to the first ledge, which was 
doubtful, the dogwood and hickory-trees would 
no longer serve him. He could not swing up- 
ward. A shimmer of Raccoon Creek was visible 
so far below him that he thought he was just 
about half-way between it and the moon. 

“ Consarn the string and all belonging to it, 
and the man who put it there!” he muttered. 

The ledge upon which he stood was hardly 
ten feet long and not more than a yard in width. 
He sat down and cogitated. 

“ So long as I keep still, I ’m safe enough ; 


ON THE DEVIL^S BACKBONE.’* 


13 


and if I yell long enough, somebody on the road 
will hear me and help me out of this scrape, but 
that may not be for two or three days, so few go 
by this way. When the sun goes down, it 's 
going to be colder than Greenland’s icy moun- 
tains up here, and if I move around in my sleep, 
as I ’m pretty sure to do if I ’m cold, I ’ll fall far 
enough to bu’st a hole in the solid crust of the 
earth. It behooves me to yell.” 

Standing up and bracing himself for a sten- 
torian effort, he shouted, at the top of his voice : 

** Hello-o-o-o ! Hello-o-o-o !” 

A feeble echo, that seemed to come up from 
the meadow, was his only answer : 

“ Bern the man who tied that string and dern 
me for seven kinds of a fool !” he ejaculated, 
again sitting down, with his back against the 
rock. 

About once in five minutes, he considered, 
would be often enough for him to let off a shout 
like that. No casual wayfarer on the road could 
get by in the intervals without hearing it. Just 
in front of him, an opening among the branches 
enabled a view of the valley, and he thought it 
had never before seemed so fair, possibly because 
it was — for the present, at least — so impossible of 
attainment. 

Beyond the green, low-lying meadowland on 
the farther side of the creek stretched broad 
fields, irregularly alternating golden russet stub- 
ble with the black, fat loam, upturned for winter 


14 


OUR HETTY. 


wheat-sowing. Amid the gray indefiniteness of 
an orchard, away across the valley, he could just 
make out a roof and chimneys, from which 
smoke curled, and knew the spot as home — 
home that he might, perhaps, never see again. 
Still farther off, the Indian-summer haze deep- 
ened into an amethystine veil, in which the ele- 
vated horizon-line of forest melted by exquisite 
gradations of tint into the evening sky. 




CHAPTER 11. 

JOHNS RICOCHET SHOT. 

“ Dern all strings !” groaned John, bitterly, as 
he straightened himself up for another shout. 
But help was nearer than he imagined. His 
first Hello-o-o-o was responded to by a 
shrill, boyish treble : “ Hi-i-i !” from the sum- 
mit of the hill, and the same voice, a moment 
later inquired : 

“ Where are you ?” 

“ Down here, on the face of the bluff!” 

“Thunder! How d’ ye get there ?” 

“ No matter about that. I want to get away.” 

“ No matter about that ! Stay where you 
are !” 

“ Go and get a rope and tie it about a tree for 
me to climb up by.” 

“ Who was your nigger afore f took the job ?” 

“ Ain’t you Danny Mulveil, up there?” 

“ Maybe, and maybe not. Who are you, 
down there ?” 

“ John Cameron.” 

fiSl 



16 


OTTR HETTY. 


The boy emitted a prolonged whistle expres- 
sive of his surprise. 

“ Gosh !” he exclaimed. “ I want to see you 
where you can’t help yourself nor get at a feller!” 

In his eagerness to enjoy that spectacle, he 
threw himself down and crawled to the edge of 
the cliff, carelessly dislodging, in his haste, a 
shower of loose small stones and earth, that, 
rattling down about John’s ears, caused him to 
utter a loud, apprehensive shout of : 

“ Hi ! Look out what you ’re doing up there, 
or you ’ll be down on top of me!” 

The boy chuckled. A brilliantly mischievous 
idea suggested itself to his mind — where its 
kind were always welcome. 

“Say!” he demanded. “Ain’t you mighty 
sorry now that you ever walloped a boy for 
findin’ a watermelon in your patch ?” 

“ Aha ! Now I know it ’s you, Danny. No ; 
I ought to have given you twice as much as 1 
did. It would have done you good. Hi, there! 
Stop that! You young limb of Satan, stop it!” 
he cried, as another shower of stones and earth, 
heavier than before, fell upon him. 

Danny rolled among the dead leaves and 
kicked up his heels in an ecstasy of delight. 

“Say!” he resumed, gathering another pile 
of small missiles in readiness. “ If a boy was 
to set his dog on your dog, would you larrup 
him like Sam Hill for it again?” 

“ It doesn’t make any odds to you whether I 










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17 


would or not. You go and fetch a rope or get 
somebody to help me. Hi, there ! Quit that ! 
Gol dern ye !” 

The freckled-faced, redheaded little imp, 
laughing with such abandon that his tears 
blinded him, was digging earth from the edge of 
the cliff with a stick and tumbling it down. 

“ ril break your back the first time I catch 
you!” yelled the angry man down below. 

“ Oho ! You will ? Then I ’d best break yours 
first, while I have the chance.” 

And he recklessly let fall a hatful of stones 
that John had no little difficulty in dodging, and 
which excited him to such a vocal tempest that 
the hearing of it filled Danny’s cup of happiness 
to the brim. 

** I don’t suppose,” cried the thoroughly exas- 
perated young man, “ that it would be possible 
to kill you with a bullet, for you were born to be 
hanged ; but I ’m a goat if I don’t try to wing 
you with a snap shot, once for luck, anyway.” 

Danny laughed more heartily than ever, at 
his fury, and sent down another lot of stones, 
some of which struck John and bruised him 
severely. Goaded to seriously attempting what 
he threatened, to save himself from being brained, 
young Cameron snatched up a flat stone and 
hastily fixed it in the fork of a small tree rising 
in front of the ledge upon which he stood, so 
that a bullet fired against it would ricochet to 
where Danny was operating. Then he caught 


18 


OUR HETTY. 


up his rifle, cocked it and waited, saying to 
himself between his set teeth : 

“ I ’ll pop him, the first time he chirps.” 

But he waited and listened in vain for the imp’s 
“ chirp.” Danny, inspired by a new idea of mis- 
chief, had suddenly decamped. Scampering 
swiftly up the road, he met his sister Hetty — a 
tall, graceful, handsome girl — who, with an axe 
upon her shoulder, was leisurely approaching. 

The lad was not at all bad-hearted. He sim- 
ply wanted fun. Unfortunately, that which com- 
mends itself as fun to the mind of a vigorous 
lively boy is generally characterized as deviltry 
by older persons, and Danny had a widespread 
reputation as an incorrigible imp. But he really 
meant no harm. He had a little spite against 
John Cameron, who had had occasion to switch 
him a few times— as almost every man in the 
township had, more or less — but his spite was 
not enough to prompt a desire to do any real 
injury. It demanded nothing more than the 
exquisite fun of scaring John and getting him 
wild with rage. That enjoyment achieved, 
Danny would cheerfully have gone a long way, 
if necessary, for help to rescue him. But in the 
midst of his mischief, he conceived the idea for 
a sprightly variation upon it ; nothing less than 
putting his sister in his place, and diverting 
John’s wrathful objurgations to her innocent 
head, to the mutual confusion of the pair. So 


John’s ricochet shot. 


19 


he ran to her, and with a good simulation of 
excited horror cried : 

“Oh, Hetty! John Cameron has fallen over 
the edge of the cliff!” 

“John Cameron?” exclaimed the girl, hoarse- 
ly, turning very pale and catching the boy’s 
shoulder to support herself. “Are you sure?” 

“ Yes ; if you crawl to the edge and look over 
you may see him on a rock a good ways down.” 

Hetty with difficulty repressed a feminine 
desire to shriek. She was trembling, and her 
teeth chattered as if with cold. 

“ Where is he? Show me f” she gasped. 

“Just beyond that little red oak. Watch 
where I pitch this stone. There !” 

She watched the flight of the little stone, 
marking where it dropped just beyond the edge 
of the hill, and did not notice how Danny, be- 
hind her, hugged himself and grinned in enjoy- 
ment of the reflection that, small as the missile 
was, it would be certain to keep John lively. 

“You can find him, easy. I’m going for 
help,” and the lad was off like a shot. 

Hetty stood hesitating, wishing to go forw^ard, 
yet so filled with dread and horror that her 
limbs seemed to weaken and become powerless 
to obey her will. Of all the men in the world, 
must it be John Cameron to whom this dreadful 
thing should happen ! John Cameron, so strong 
and handsome ! John Cameron, who would 
never know now how she would grieve for him ! 


20 


OUR HETTY. 


How willingly she would have offered herself to 
fate in his stead ! Her great brown eyes, wide 
staring in anticipation of the horror they were to 
see, had no tears in them, for her tears were in 
her heart, swelling it to bursting, but a low 
moan that ended in a sob welled from her lips. 
Near the brink of the abyss, she dropped upon 
her hands and knees, and crawled forward to 
look over the edge. 

John Cameron’s keen hearing caught the rust- 
ling of her movements among the leaves, and 
naturally supposing the sound made by his tor- 
mentor, preliminary to another bombardment, 
hastily aimed at the stone in the tree and fired, 
exclaiming as he did so : 

“ There ! Gol dern you !” 

A woman’s shriek answered the report of his 
rifle. Then succeeded silence — only silence. 

He stood as if petrified by astonishment, hold- 
ing his breath to listen, while gradually a white 
horror overspread his face. The voice was 
surely a woman’s. He huskily shouted : 

“ Hello, up there ! Are you hurt ?” 

There was no answer, not a sound of any kind 
but the violent beating of his own heart. The 
suspense quickly became unbearable. At one 
end of the ledge upon which he was perched 
grew a large tree; rooted among the rocks, but 
so insecurely, as it appeared, that its own weight 
threatened to tear it loose and precipitate it 
into the valley. Its upper branches were on a 


John’s ricochet shot. 


21 


level with the hill-top, but several yards away 
from the cliff, owing to the angle at which the 
trunk projected. Under ordinary circumstances, 
John would as soon have thought of jumping 
down to the creek as of climbing that tree, for 
the enormous leverage of his weight, among 
those upper branches, might very well prove too 
much for its scant hold upon the earth to bear. 
But in his present state of anxious excitement, 
approaching desperation, he did not even think 
twice of the danger. He recognized it, but 
that was all. Up the trunk he went, almost as 
nimbly as a squirrel could, feeling it quiver and 
crack, but caring nothing for those danger- 
signals, so long as he might reach a point high 
enough to see what his bullet had done. His 
climbing was necessarily done with his back 
toward the cliff. When he felt that he had 
attained a sufficient altitude, he stopped ; but 
then a sudden dread of what he was about to 
see suddenly so overpowered 1iim that for a 
minute he could not nerve himself to turn his 
head and look. At length he did so, and almost 
fell from his perch. His worst fears were real- 
ized. Face downward among the leaves, lay 
the body of a woman motionless— scant doubt, 
(jead— killed by his bullet. Who she was, he 
could not tell ; but that did not matter. His 
deed was a murder, anyway; and he felt that 
the best thing he could do would be to let go all 
holds and drop. Better do that than be hanged. 



CHAPTER III. 

AN AMAZON AND AN AXE. 

But before John could quite make up his 
mind to that conclusive action, a thrill of hope 
ran through him. He fancied that he saw his 
victim move one of her hands. The motion was 
so slight that he could not, at first, be sure his 
strained sight had not played him a trick. Soon, 
however, it was beyond question. Her long, 
white fingers that had been outspread, closed 
slowly, clutching a handful of leaves. He prayed, 
raved and shouted to her to “ wake up,” but 
though he was near enough to hear the faint 
rustling of the dry leaves stirred by her hand, 
she was deaf to ^11 the sounds he could make. 
He would have given 3'^ears of his life to be able 
to get to where she was and try to revive her, 
but that would have been no less practicable, 
had she been upon another planet, instead of 
stretched out almost beneath his nose. 

The period of the girl’s unconsciousness 
seemed interminable to him; for, while it lasted, 
[22] 


AN AMAZON AND AN AXE. 


23 


more vivid emotions ran riot through his per- 
turbed mind than in all his life before he had 
experienced, but in reality its duration was only 
a few moments. Eventually he saw her shiver, 
draw herself together and sit up, looking about 
with a dazed expression. There was blood on 
her neck and breast, but she did not notice it. 

“ Hetty Mulveil !” he gasped, in blank amaze- 
ment. “ Who would ’a’ thought she ’d have been 
up to such deviltries? I’d ’a’ sworn it was 
Danny.” 

It had not escaped John’s observant eye — 
which had often rested upon her with pleasure at 
church, singing-school and other public gather- 
ings — that Hetty was a very pretty girl, but 
never had she seemed to him so superlatively 
beautiful as now. The temporary paleness, con- 
sequent upon her swoon, seemed to accentuate 
the lines of her lovely features ; her great mass 
of wavy, chestnut-brown hair fell loosely upon 
her shoulders ; and her involuntary gesture, 
placing both her hands to her temples, made a 
most effective pose for exhibition of the graceful 
modeling of her perfect form. What an unspeak- 
able horror to him now was the thought that 
his rash act had come near to cutting short the 
life of one that had suddenly become dear to him. 

“Hetty!” he cried, “are you much hurt? 
Speak to me! Tell me! Great gosh! I’m 
gettin’ wild away over here, where I can’t half 
tell you how sorry I am !” 


24 


OUR HETTY. 


She looked at him with a smile, as the color 
came back to her cheeks, and replied : 

“Hurt? No. I’m not hurt. What are you 
sorry for?” 

“ For shootin’ you.” 

“ Shootin’ me ? Why, no.” 

“ I tell you, yes. Can’t I see the blood on 
your neck? But I didn’t mean to — Lord knows 
I never thought it was you !” 

She started, when he spoke of blood on her 
neck, put up her hand, and finding that he said 
truly, had no little difficulty to keep from faint- 
ing a second time. But her nerve was good, and 
after feeling gently with her finger tips for the 
wound, she forced a light laugh, as she replied : 

“Pshaw! That’s nothing. Just a little chip 
off the end of my ear and a teeny skelp off the 
side of my neck.” 

“ My God !” thought John, with a thrill of 
horror. “An inch to the right would have sent 
the bullet through her head. Only blind chance 
saved her. 

. “ I didn’t really mean to shoot at you. Miss 

Mulveil,” he said, in a tone of very earnest 
apology, “ because, you see, I didn’t know it was 
you. I thought it was that limb of Satan, Danny, 
who had been heaving rocks down at me, and 1 
just wanted to drive him off.” 

“ Indeed, I don’t wonder at it,” answered 
Hetty, sympathetically, “ for a more provoking 
boy don’t walk the earth. Many ’s the time I ’ve 


AN AMAZON AND AN AXE. 


25 


told him something would happen to him, if a 
judgment didn’t overtake him first. But he has 
gone to get help for you now, and that ’s some- 
thing in his favor.” 

“I don’t know,” responded John, doubtfully. 
“ He may not come back in a week.” 

“Well, I guess we needn’t wait for him. If 
this hickory were to be felled, with the fork into 
that tree you ’re on, couldn’t you climb up?” 

“ Sure. But who ’s to fell the hickory ?” 

“ I am. I ’ve got a good, sharp axe here, and I 
can chop as well as any man on Raccoon Creek. 
Get down where you ’ll be safe, and see how 
soon I ’ll have this tree cut.” 

“ I ’ll climb down soon enough, but I want to 
stay here as long as I can.” 

“What for?” 

“ To look at you.” 

“ You just want to laugh at my chopping.” 

“ Indeed, I don’t. I just can’t any more get 
enough of seeing you. That’s what is the fact.” 

Hetty’s cheeks burned, but her eyes sparkled 
with pleasure. Affecting to laugh, she turned 
away, picked up the axe and set to work on the 
doomed tree. 

John admiringly watched, while the chips flew 
from beneath her vigorous strokes, until the 
hickory was half felled. Then, before descend- 
ing out of the way, he said, heartily : 

“ You do handle an axe as well as I could my- 
self.” 


26 


ODR HETTY. 


With what pleasure Hetty heard that commen- 
dation of her ability ! She had been told the 
same thing often before ; but what, to her, were 
the praises of others compared with John’s ap- 
proval ? When the tree was cut almost through, 
she set her shoulder against the trunk, like a 
thorough woodman, and threw it in exactly the 
position desired, with a nice precision that could 
not h&ve been surpassed. Hardly had the crash 
of its fall and the rattle of breaking boughs 
among the now commingled tops died away 
when John was nimbly making his way to her 
side, which he quickly reached in safety. 

“ I can’t tell you how much obliged I am,” 
she said, hesitatingly. 

Strangely enough, the nearer he came to her, 
the more awkward he felt. He could not speak 
as freely as he had from his perch in the tree-top ; 
could hardly, indeed, venture to look squarely 
into her beautiful, big blue eyes. 

And she too seemed to have an access of bash- 
fulness. 

“ You are quite welcome,” she said, almost 
coldly, and was secretly angry with herself for, 
using such a tone to him. 

Her exertion had left her still panting and 
flushed, so that fluent immediate speech could 
hardly have been expected from her, but there 
was no reason, she said to herself, why she 
should “ act mean to John.” She wondered if 
he would understand that it was not at all in her 


AN AMAZON AND AN AXE. 


27 


heart to do so. Then she was afraid that he 
would. It certainly is very hard for an inexperi-' 
enced girl to know just how far it is proper or 
prudent to betray her real feelings or restrain 
them from betra3'ing themselves. And John 
was so handsome. He was larger than she had 
thought him, too. Often as she had feasted her 
eyes upon him in public, she had never been so 
close to him as now ; and it was a little pleasur- 
able surprise to her to find that, tall as was her 
Diana-like figure, he towered more than a head 
above her — yes, more than head and neck, she 
believed. Some day she would determine that 
difference more accurately. And what a noble 
head it was to which she looked up; with its 
wealth of golden-brown hair and shot-cropped, 
curling beard ; honest brown eyes ; broad brow ; 
firm, red mouth and clear complexion. 

With a soft piece of muslin he had in the 
patch box of his rifle, he insisted upon bandag- 
ing her slightly “ chipped ” ear and “ skelped ” 
neck, to keep the cold from the wounds. It was 
perhaps not a very necessary operation, as the 
blood had long since ceased flowing, but she did 
not object to it. She colored and his fingers 
trembled, but they were both careful about hav- 
ing the job properly done and did not hurry it. 

“ It was very lucky for me that you happened 
to come along," he said, “and a chance that I 
suppose mightn’t happen again for a great 
while." 


28 


OUR HETTY. 


“ I don’t know when I ’ve been up on the 
‘ Backbone ’ before. Not for a year I guess. 
But I went over to see Mrs. Davis and took 
Danny along to get an axe sharpened on their 
grindstone. Ours is broken down. That was 
how 1 happened to have the axe with me. I 
don’t usually travel around with one over my 
shoulder.” 

Together they walked down the slope at the 
end of the hill, into the valley, where their 
respective roads soon diverged. He would 
have liked to walk on and on indefinitely with 
her, but did not venture to suggest doing so, 
particularly as she was the first to stop at the 
fork of the road, as if expecting him to leave her 
there. 

“ 1 — I would like to come over and see that 
you get well. Miss Mulveil,” he stammered. 

“ Why, I should be pleased to see you any 
time, Mr. Cameron,” she replied, formall3^ 

“ Then, if you wouldn’t mind, 1 think I ’ll 
come over some evening prett}^ soon.’' 

“ Whenever 3^ou please, Mr. Cameron.” 

“ And you don’t really have any hard feelings 
toward me for shooting 3^011 ?” 

“ Oh, no, indeed, I don’t, Mr. Cameron ; not a 
bit. Why, don’t 1 know you wouldn’t do it a 
purpose ?” 

“ The Lord knows I wouldn’t, Hetty !” he 
exclaimed, fervently. “ I ’d rather shoot my- 
selt !” 


AN AMAZON AND AN AXE. 


29 


Don’t think about it any more.” 

They said “ good night,” for the shades of 
evening had by this time fallen heavily, and 
parted. As the girl walked swiftly away home- 
ward, the music of his voice, in the utterance of 
her name, rang in her ears, and, closing her eyes, 
she could see him again just as he looked when 
he said it. And he, looking after her, admiring 
her trim, shapely figure and the graceful firm- 
ness of her carriage until it faded from his sight 
in the deepening dusk, said, vigorously, to him- 
self : 

“ Thunder ! What a fool I ’ve been, never to 
have noticed before how awfully derned pretty 
Hetty Mulveil is ! Why, there isn’t a girl in 
Washington County that is fit to hold a candle 
to her !” 




CHAPTER IV. 

DEVILTRY SURPASSING ALL OTHER DEVILTRY. 

When Danny Mulveil disappeared from the 
crest of the Devil’s Backbone, he did not go for 
help. He had not even an intention of doing 
so. True, he had told Hetty he would, but the 
relations between Danny and truth were always 
strained. It had not yet occurred to his mind 
that truth might, now and then, infuse a new 
element of excitement into existence. If he had 
recognized truth as something explosive and dan- 
gerous, of which many persons are much afraid, 
he would certainly have been tempted to tamper 
with it sometimes. 

Strolling contentedly down the slope and into 
the valley, thinking no more of John Cameron’s 
predicament and the possibly embarrassing 
responsibility he had shifted upon his sister, he 
found nature, as usual, prolific of material for the 
amusement of his earnest, boyish nature. He 
stoned a chipmunk and a bird, ^‘heaved a rock” 
into a deep pool of the creek to terrify a school 
Cao] 


DEVILTRY SURPASSING OTHER DEVILTRY. 


31 


of fish, met a neighbor’s dog in the lane and 
made friends long enough to enable him to 
treacherously fasten a bunch of thorns to the 
animal’s tail, sprang upon the back of a cow in 
the pasture and rode her at a gallop until she 
threw him off and went lumbering across the 
meadow^ half mad with fright, tied two stout 
wisps of grass across the spring-house path to 
trip up anybody who went for milk ; and so, 
flitting from one innocent pleasure to another, 
marking his progress by devices for embittering 
the existence of all living things that came within 
the range of his influence, he reached home. 

A muscovy drake, flanked by his harem, stood 
near the kitchen-door and viewed him with the 
haughty disdain serious'^natures feel for the 
frivolous. Suddenly that proud, slow-moving 
bird found himself caught up by Danny and his 
short tail clamped fast in the cleft of a fire-log 
that had been partly split and held open by the 
axe driven into its end. The outrage had been 
.perpetrated before he had time to utter one 
quack of indignant remonstrance ; but when he 
realized his helpless plight, his dignity gave way 
and he filled the air with vociferations of alarm, 
in which his amazed and sympathetic wives 
joined loudly. Mrs. Mulveil, hearing the dis- 
turbance, rushed out of the kitchen to learn its 
cause, and her remarks were quite in harmony 
with those of the ducks. She quickly liberated 
the drake and made a futile effort to catch 


32 


OUR HETTY. 


Danny, who easily eluded her clutch and fled to 
the top of the big wood-pile, his customary place 
of refuge. Having reached there, he was always 
willing to condone, overlook and forget any of 
his offenses, and seemed to feel that others 
should demonstrate a like spirit. The supercili- 
ous bird eyed his tormentor with lofty scorn, 
when set free, and seemed comforted by Mrs. 
Mulveil’s threats that Danny should be“ skinned 
alive ” if he ever did such a thing again. 

“ Where ’s Hetty ?” demanded the old woman. 

“ Up on the * Backbone ’ with John Cameron,’' 
answered the lad. 

“ With who ?” 

John Cameron.” 

“ What in the name.of the prophets is she a- 
doin’ with John Cameron ?’^ 

“Dunno. Talkin’, I s’pose. Gals mostly is.” 

“Well! Did anybody ever hear the like ! Hetty 
Mulveil takin’ up with a Cameron ! It ’s enough 
to make her father turn over in his grave. 
Maybe she won’t hear from me when she comes, 
home. John Cameron, indeed I How did she 
come to meet him there ?” 

“ He waited until she came along, I guess,” 
replied Danny, with a grin. 

“ I ’ll be bound she had sent him word,. some- 
how, that she had laid out to go over to Mrs. 
Davis’s to-day. You set to work and cut some 
kindlings and get in the coal for the night, if you 
don’t want a hiding.” 


DEVILTRY SURPASSING OTHER DEVILTRY. 33 


When his mother had re-entered the kitchen, 
still grumbling and muttering about Hetty and 
John Cameron, Danny came down off the wood- 
pile. By way of protest against his task, he shied 
a heavy chip at a hen just going to roost in an 
apple-tree near at hand, and so true was his aim, 
that he knocked her fluttering and squawking 
from her perch. While he was still enjoying 
her consternation, his mother reappeared with a 
milk-pail in her hand, and started down the path 
toward the spring-house. Danny watched her 
progress with delighted expectancy. Suddenly 
he saw her plunge forward, flourish her arms 
wildly, shying the pail in the air over her head, 
and go down in a heap, emitting a whoop of 
surprise and alarm. ^The knotted grass had done 
its work well, and the measure of Danny’s hap- 
piness, for that day, was full. 

Night had fallen by the time Hetty reached 
her Home. Danny was shoveling up his last 
load of coal and did not hear her coming until 
she was close beside him. When he was aware 
of her presence, he bounded beyond her reach 
and held himself in readiness to mount the wood- 
pile at her first demonstration of hostility. But, 
to his bewilderment and disappointment, she did 
not evince any resentment for the trick he had 
played her. She even looked happy, and it was 
with a gentle reproach only in her voice, that 
she said to him : 


34 


OtTR HETTY. 


“ Why, Danny ! I thought you said you were 
going to get help for Mr. Cameron ?" 

Mister Cameron!” echoed the boy, with 
affected surprise. “ Who ’s he ?” 

Well, John Cameron — Jack Cameron, if you 
haven’t got sense enough to understand proper 
speaking of a gentleman,” snapped Hetty, im- 
patiently. 

“Oho! ft’s Jack, now, is it? Our Jack! 
My Jack! Dear Jack!” pursued the mischiev- 
ous urchin, with a precocious talent for bur- 
lesque, infusing a ridiculously exaggerated tone 
of affection into his voice and manner. 

“ I declare, Danny, I do think you are the 
most provoking limb of meanness that ever 
lived !” exclaimed Hetty, making a rush at 
him. 

But in two bounds he was on the wood-pile 
beyond her reach, where he continued : 

“Oh, Jack! Dear Jack! Darling Jack! 
Jacky !” until Hetty turned her back upon him 
and went into the kitchen. 

Mrs. Mulveil was busy 'getting supper ready. 
Near the fire, a neatly dressed young woman, 
thin, but pretty, and with a sad, sweet face, sat 
warming her hands. 

“ Oh, good evening, Mary ! I am so glad you 
have come !” exclaimed Hetty, at sight of her, 
embracing her affectionately. 

“ Not more so than I am,” responded the 
young woman. “ I could not get awa}^ before. 


t)EriLTRY SURPASSING OTHER DEVILTRY. 35 

Every one wants winter things made at once 
now, you know." 

“ Well, we’ve got you now and will not let 
you go again for a good while ; make up your 
mind to that." 

“ And you ’ll stay home and help her," broke 
in the old woman, ** instead of gallivanting on 
the Devil’s Backbone with John Cameron ; so 
make up your mind to that." 

“ Why, mother, I haven’t been gallivanting." 

“Don’t tell me! Wasn’t John Cameron wait- 
ing for you up there ? Didn’t Danny get tired 
and come away, leaving you two together? Of 
all the men in the world, it must be John Cam- 
eron you go out in the woods to meet ! I should 
think you might have more pride about you — 
and you a Mulveil. You know very well there 
never yet was any love lost between the Mulveils 
and the Camerons, even among our forbears in 
the old country. The Camerons, indeed ! A 
stuck-up lot, who think themselves better than 
anybody else, because they have a clan ; while, 
as is well known among wise men, the first Mul- 
veil was a king — and an Irish king; and I ’d like 
to have anybody show me a Cameron that ever 
was a king. I wonder if you ’ve forgot how 
John Cameron’s father got the best of yours in 
that lawsuit, when we had to pay one hundred 
dollars for our bull jabbing his horn into old 
Cameron’s mare ; and it never did seem sense 
nor reason nor justice nor godliness to me that 


36 


OUR HETTY. 


we should be held responsible for the natural 
dispositions of the dumb beasts.*’ 

“ Don’t cook fish till you catch them, mother,” 
answered Hetty, placidly. “ You ’ve been swal- 
lowing some of Danny’s yarns. I should think 
by this time you ’d know better than to believe 
anything that boy says, except that he ’s hungry 
or don’t want to wash himself.” 

“ Wasn’t it true that you and John Cameron 
had a meetin’ up on the ‘Backbone’ to-day? 
Wasn’t he waiting there for you to come along ?” 

“ He was waiting, certainly, but hardly as a 
matter of his own choice, 1 think, or for me,” 
replied the girl, with a little laugh. 

And then she went on to narrate the facts of 
Jack’s mishaps and her share in his rescue, with- 
out remembering, however, anything about the 
shooting, all traces of which she had, on her way 
home, taken care to hide from casual observation. 
While she was telling the story, her mother and 
Mary Elder kept up a running commentary of 
exclamations : 

“ Law’s sakes!” 

“ Did you ever !” 

“ If that don’t beat all !” 

Danny, being hungry, had better use for his 
mouth than talking with it, but by the knowing 
grins and leers with which he favored Hetty, he 
sorely tempted her to box his ears. 

The girl’s vivid recital of John Cameron’s 
peril quite won her mother’s sympathetic inter- 


DEVILTRY SURPASSING OTHER DEVILTRY. 37 

est, for Mrs. Mulveil was at heart a kind, well- 
meaning woman, wishing ill to none, even to a 
Cameron, so long as the old faction grudge did 
not happen to be stirred up. But the story had 
a keener interest for Mary Elder, who, being a 
clear-sighted girl, saw what the widow did not 
perceive, or even suspect. 

Soon after supper, Danny — in his customary 
state of rebellion and angry disgust with the 
familiar assurance that it would be hard enough 
to get him up in the morning, even if he went 
now, was driven off to his bed in the loft. 

Then the three women abandoned themselves 
to the ecstatic delight of an untrammeled conver- 
sational revel over the subject of dress. Mary 
Elder was a skillful dressmaker, who made, or, 
at least, cut and fitted, the best gowns of half the 
well-to-do women in that part of the country. 
The whole year round she was in demand and 
sure of enthusiastic welcome at any one of fifty 
farm-houses. All the latest fashions known in 
Pittsburg she could be depended upon for sup- 
plying, and she was a treasure-house of knowl- 
edge concerning all the new things the most 
stylish women in the county had or contem- 
plated having. And she was prudent withal. 
Every wardrobe or individual garment reported 
by her was presented in its best light. A thing 
“ turned ” or “ made over to look like new, from 
her point of view, was new. She betrayed no 
secrets. It was not necessary that she should do 


38 


OUR HETTY. 


SO to make her news interesting or establish her 
position as an authority. 

At length, Mrs. Mulveil, having yawned until 
her jaws cracked, declared she could sit up no 
longer, and went off to bed. Hetty “ covered ” 
the big fire in the grate by piling upon it a large 
quantity of the finely broken coal called “ slack,” 
which melts into a crust during the night, and at 
the first touch of the matutinal early poker bursts 
into a mass of roaring flame. Then she and 
Mary sat down together before the fireplace, in 
the half-light cast from between the lower bars 
of the grate, and, with their arms about each 
other, talked in low tones. 

“ You told me something you did not tell your 
mother, dear,” said Mary, drawing her younger 
friend close to her. 

“ Why, no ! How so? What?” 

“ That you were in love with John Cameron.” 

“ Why, Mary ! How you do talk!” 

“ Oh, don’t try to deny it to me, dear. I ’m 
enough older than you to read the signs. You 
can’t help telling your love or letting it tell 
itself. Your voice would make it known if you 
were only talking about the weather ; and if you 
are silent, your happy eyes will laugh it out to 
the world ; and if you shut them tight, the flame 
in your cheeks will tell the story, as it does 
now.” 

“ That is only the red firelight.” 


DEVILTRY SURPASSING OTHER DEVILTRY. 39 

“ God grant the fire that light comes from may 
never die down in ashes.” 

“ Oh, Mary ! How you say that.^” , 

“ I have reason to, for 1 know better than you 
do yet what love is ; how happy or how wretched 
one may be made by it.” 

Hetty shuddered, and for a few minutes both 
were silent, looking at the fire, one seeing in it 
the past, the other the future. 

On the surface of the melting mass of rich bit- 
uminous coal near the front — where it was thin- 
nest piled and most readily acted upon by the 
fierce heat beneath — glossy, jet-black gas bub- 
bles formed continuously, slowly swelling larger 
and larger each in its turn suddenly bursting in- 
to a bright but generally only momentary blaze. 
Sometimes the flame would catch the gas rising 
in slender columns of dark smoke from where 
the “slack” lay thickest, and for an instant pro- 
duce an effect like a diminutive display of “ heat 
lightning.” Again it would persist for a longer 
time, as much as a minute or two, in a long, 
slender, tongue of hissing, golden light. No two 
bubbles acted exactly alike, either in formation 
or transformation. And a pretty picture those 
fitful illuminations made of the homely but cheer- 
ful kitchen interior, every detail of which was 
brought out by them in most vivid relief. The 
bright utensils of tin and copper shone like bur- 
nished silver and gold ; the old dark oak table 
took on a mahogany color ; the full moon-face 


40 


OUR HETTY. 


on the dial of the old-fashiorted tall clock as- 
sumed an expression of intelligent consciousness ; 
weird shadows danced among strings of brilliant 
scarlet peppers pendant from the ceiling ; and 
even the blue mandarin, with his blue suite, cross- 
ing a blue bridge from a blue forest to a blue 
pagoda, on the great dishes exposed upon the 
shelves, was brought out clearly en evidence and 
looked pretty rather than preposterous. But 
these were not the sights that Hetty and Mary 
saw. The fire elemenlals’ magic wrought other 
pictures for them. At length the seamstress re- 
• sumed, speaking in a low, sad voice, hardly 
louder than a murmur in a minor key : 

“ You don’t know how much older than you I 
am dear, both in years and in sorrow. Maybe I 
do not look my age. They say that those who 
don’t care do not grow old so fast as those who 
do, and I guess that must be so. I don’t care. 
1 have nothing left to care for. But I have had 
my romance, and buried it before you were put 
into long frocks. It was in Pittsburg, where I 
went when 1 was only a slip of a girl to learn 
dressmaking, and where I lived as you know, a 
good many years. Well, I was engaged to be 
married there to a young man named Grant 
Guthrie. He was a machinist, and I can’t tell 
you how handsome and good he was and how 
dear to me. And he loved me, too. Yes, I am 
sure he did— in a man’s way, though. He was 
all I thought of or cared for, and, having him, I 


DEVILTRY SURPASSING OTHER DEVILTRY. 


41 


would not have been conscious that 1 desired 
anything else. But, besides me, he loved glory 
and his country, and he had ambition to make a 
name for himself and fortune; so nothing would 
do for him but he must enlist in the army and 
go away to Mexico.” 

She stopped speaking for a few minutes. 
When she went on again, her voice trembled, 
and a sudden flare of fire-light showed that tears 
were standing in her eyes. She continued : 

“ He was going to become a colonel, perhaps 
a general. Then he would' return home a hero, 
marry me and go to Congress and be a great 
man. The one thing he never thought of was 
that he might not live to come back — and he 
never did ! He was shot down by the Mexicans 
in one of the first battles, and only lived long 
enough to give a comrade his dying message to 
me ; and he is buried far away in a land I shall 
never see.” 

Her voice broke, and she wept without an 
effort at constraint. Hetty embraced her, kissed 
her brow, patted her shoulder as one soothes a 
sorrowing child, and murmured, caressingly : 

“ There, there, dear ! Don’t take on so, don’t ! 
Maybe it is all for the best.” 

“Yes,” sobbed Mary, doubtfully; “that is 
what the minister says — that ‘ all is for the best’ 
— but I can hardly make up my mind that he is 
right.” 


42 


OUR HETTY. 


“ And don’t you believe there will ever come 
a time when you will be with him again?” 

“ Not in this world, anyway ; and this is all we 
really know anything about.” 

“ But I think I should try to hope so, if 1 were 
you.” 

“ So I do ; so I do. But, oh, it is so hard to 
believe in the light of another world that sends 
no ray into the gloom of this! There, there ! 
Don’t let us talk any more about my old story. 
Bury it in your heart, as I do in mine ; only, if 
you ever recall it, let it be to warn you not to 
hope for too much happiness from love. And 
now, dear, tell me about yourself. Does John 
love you?” 

“ Oh, he has never said a word of love to me. 
Indeed, we hardly ever spoke before to-day. I 
suppose that miserable old quarrel between the 
Camerons and the Mulveils kept him from see- 
ing me.” 

“ But not you from seeing him ?” 

“ N-no. I looked at him sometimes ; enough 
to know him by sight, anyway.” 

Mary smiled at the naiveti of the admission. 

“ But, now that he has seen you, how does he 
look at you ? As if he loved you ?” 

“ I hardly know,” answered Hetty, with a little 
embarrassed laugh. “ You see, I have no experi- 
ence to judge by ; but I — I — think— yes.” 

“Then 1 guess he does. The heart does not 
need experience to read that look. It is true 


DEVILTRY SURPASSING OTHER DEVILTRY. 


43 


that some men can lie with their eye*s, as others 
can with their tongues, but I do not think John 
Cameron is one of that sort. No, he is of good, 
honest, manly stock. And I can speak impar- 
tially about that, for, you know, my family is 
mixed up with both the Camerons and the Mul- 
veils.” 

“ But more to the Camerons. Y ou would take 
up for them first." 

“ Why ! You savage little partisan! I believe 
you are disposed to find fault with me for speak- 
ing well of a Cameron !" 

“ Oh, no, no, indeed ! I am for one Cameron 
against the world." 




CHAPTER V. 

DANNY WAGES PARTHIAN WARFARE WITH THE 
DOMINIE. 

The lax for keeping the public roads in repair 
was, in those days, payable either in money or 
labor, and the latter method was generally pre- 
ferred in the agricultural districts. This fact 
was however by no means attributable to 
inability of the farmers to pay cash, or because 
they had a prejudice against parting with their 
silver. “ Road-tax Days ” had come to be popu- 
larly regarded as exciting events. They brought 
neighbors together on week-days, when political 
discussions, exchanges of rumors supposed to 
be news, good-natured personal banter and 
occasional horse trades could be indulged in 
with propriety. The legal hours of labor were 
from sun-up to sun-down.” 

It was only about a fortnight after John Camer- 
on’s adventure on the “ Backbone ” that “ Road- 
tax Day ” came around in the township of Elder, 
and called forth, as usual, the entire able-bodied 
male population. By daybreak, they commenced 
arriving at the great white-oak, on the township 
[44] 


DANNY WAGES WARFARE. 


45 


line, which was the rendezvous appointed by the 
road-master. A sort of tacit understanding, 
born of habit, prevailed, as to the implements 
and tools each man should bring to the work, so 
that all were amply provided with axes, shovels, 
pick-axes, cant-hooks, hand-spikes and hoes. 
Some came with teams and ploughs or bob-sleds, 
to run drainage furrows at the sides of the road 
or drag heavy weights. 

The first-comers assumed the right to banter 
later arrivals upon their tardiness, and many a 
sharply rude jest was good-naturedly taken and 
replied to by a keen rejoinder, until, finally, the 
last comer, a young fellow who had but recently 
been married, was made the subject for so lively 
a general attack as overwhelmed him and made 
him sullen for a time, his wit being no match for 
the assembled township. With few exceptions, 
the people in that part of Washington County 
then were of Scotch-Irish extraction, and their 
humor was of the dry, biting, sly sort peculiar 
to that breed of jokers ; keenly effective as 
uttered, but almost impossible of even approxi- 
mately fair reproduction in cold type. Words 
of innocently simple purport were converted 
into barbed and envenomed darts of meaning by 
an arch look, a suggestive intonation or, oftener 
yet, by their covert allusion to some purely 
personal matter which had become popular 
knowledge. 

Soon all were busy at work. The echoes 


46 


OTTR HETTY. 


were stirred by the ringing sounds of axe-strokeS 
and the shouts of the drivers to their horses. 
Young squirrels, high up in the oak and hickory- 
trees, yelped inquiries to their elders as to what 
they thought of the strange proceedings going 
on away-below ; and the wise ones barked back 
that, strange as it was true, no present harm to 
the squirrel race was threatened. Inquisitive 
crows, having thoroughly satisfied themselves, 
by sharp observation from a safe distance, that 
there were no guns near at hand, came impu- 
dently close, perched over the merrymakers’ 
heads and cawed down their criticisms upon 
what was going on. The horde of dogs accom- 
panying their masters, having formally opened 
the ceremonies, in conformity with ancient 
custom, with a promiscuous free fight, came to 
an amicable understanding with one another, 
and, joining forces in pursuit of minks, rabbits 
and chipmunks, made the forest ring with their 
hunting choruses. 

At noon the men suspended their work, and 
the dogs temporarily abandoned their bootless 
hunting. Each man had brought his dinner with 
him, and in a sunny spot, well sheltered from the 
wind, they all sat down near together to eat and 
chat. The entente cordiale among the dogs was 
violently ruptured in their eager rivalry for the 
first bones thrown them, but reestablished upon 
their general recognition that their masters were 
leaving to them much more food than they could 


DANNY WAGES WARFARE. 


47 


devour. After quickly finishing their meal, the 
younger men, to kill time during the remaining 
portion of the dinner-hour, entered into a series 
of competitive contests of strength and skill, 
“ putting ” a heavy stone, “ tossing the caber,” 
jumping and throwing stones at a mark. In each 
of these exercises the competitors gradually but 
surely dropped out until but two were left, 
John Cameron and Rufus Goldie, between whom 
there was a strong feeling of rivalry that spurred 
them to efforts far beyond those of their fellows. 
It was not simply personal but rather the con. 
centration to two focal points of the antagonism 
long existent between those opposing factions, 
the Camerons and the Mulveils. By insensible 
degrees, from the time Rufus came to live in 
this neighborhood, he and John had grown into 
prominence as the very nearly matched cham- 
pions of the young men who, according to tra- 
ditional .duty, were keeping alive the ancient 
grudge of their ancestors. Yet Rufus was not 
exactly a Mulveil but only “ related to them.” 
His connection was admittedly no closer than 
that his mother’s first husband, who was a Bease- 
ley — she being a McBride — had a brother mar- 
ried to a girl whose half-brother took one of the 
Baker girls to wife, and everybody knew that 
the Bakers were related to the Mulveils from 
‘‘away back,” though few could tell exactly 
how. That was the way in which most of the 
old women figured out his “distant cousinship,” 


48 


OUR HETTY. 


though there were some who- claimed to have 
found connection in another way, through the 
Clancys — a claim against which much could 
have been, and was, said, without reaching any 
certitude. At all events, he was recognized as a 
relative and welcomed as an adherent of the 
Mulveils. But he was a “ ne’er-do-well,” work- 
ing pretty faithfully at Sim Mulveil’s saw-mill 
or on his farm, but never, somehow, accumulat- 
ing anything for himself, not even acquiring 
possession of a saddle-horse. It was whispered 
that he gambled. Of course, he was expected 
to have vices, for it was well known that he 
worked in Pittsburg several months before com- 
ing out to Washington County to live, five years 
ago, and the contamination of city life was 
beyond question. Every one had to admit, how- 
ever, that he was a good-looking young fellow, 
lacking in the open frankness of countenance 
that characterized John Cameron, but with a 
fine athletic figure, regular features and a hand- 
some head of straight hair black as coal. 

Each of Goldie’s feats in the athletic contest 
was loudly applauded by the Mulveils, and each 
time he was defeated by John, the Camerons 
shouted for joy and triumph over their neigh- 
bors. From these indicative manifestations of 
feeling, progress was easy to the utterance of 
taunts and insinuated threats. 

Several of the older men present, mindful of 
the promises given two years before by the 


DANNY WAGES WARFAKE. 


49 


recognized heads of the factions, when Squire 
McCalmont brought about a formal agreement 
of peace between them, interfered to prevent the 
fight that seemed imminent — and for which 
abundant precedent had been established on 
other “ Road-tax Days.” Their endeavors, 
at least, caused the hot-headed youngsters to 
hesitate, and fortunately an incident occurred 
which diverted their attention and averted the 
threatened danger, by restoring general good- 
humor. 

Danny Mulveil and the mail-rider suddenly 
came dashing down the road, riding furiously 
and howling like Comanches. “The imp,” 
whose saddle was simply a sheepskin, was 
mounted upon a bright bay two-year-old with a 
blazed face, that everybody recognized at a 
glance as the property of minister McLeod. 
The mail-rider — a boy only two or three years 
older than Danny — rode a good horse, with 
which he had, in a succession of semi-weekly 
races, repeatedly beaten every animal in the Mul- 
veil stables — or, at least, those to which the imp 
had access. But Danny, who was not the sort 
of boy who could be ever so effectually downed 
that he would stay downed, had to-day stolen 
from the pasture the minister’s blooded colt, the 
joy of that good man’s heart and the pride of his 
life, and was determined to “ ride him for all 
there is in him.” 

Both lads were wild with excitement, yelling 


50 


OUR HETtf . 


like maniacs and lashing the flanks of the spirited 
steeds that with straining muscles, distended 
nostrils and protruding eyes, were going at their 
swiftest speed, when they plunged among the 
wrangling road-makers and, like a flash, were 
gone again, around a bend in the highway, and 
out of sight. Brief as the glimpse afforded had 
been, and troubled by the scramble to get out of 
the way of those flying hoofs, all the men had 
seen that Danny was rapidly gaining upon his 
antagonist, actually leaving him almost as if the 
mail-rider had been mounted upon a cow, and 
they joined in a shout, for somehow the out- 
^ come of the race suddenly assumed the propor- 
tions of a local triumph. 

While their hurrahs were still in the air, a 
third rider appeared upon the scene, the Rev. 
Mr. McLeod himself, bare-headed, in his shirt- 
sleeves, red with anger, riding as furiously as 
the boys, and shouting denunciations and threats 
after them — not with any hope of their hearing 
him, but as a relief to his mind. Whip and 
shout as he would, he was losing ground steadily, 
for the animal he bestrode was a sturdy, sedate 
farm-horse, that had never, probably, indulged 
voluntarily in a gallop since he was a colt. 
Without seeming to notice his friends and 
neighbors as he dashed through the space 
cleared by the racers, he, too, disappeared 
around the bend in the road ; but long after he 
was out of sight they could hear his shouts and 


DANNY WAGES WARFARE. 


51 


the dull echoes of the farm-horse’s hoof-beats 
thundering across a little wooden bridge span- 
ning the creek. 

Half an hour elapsed before the reverend 
gentleman came slowly jogging back, leading 
the foam-flecked and panting colt. He was still 
enraged. Danny has escaped his vengeance. 
The quick-witted imp, having ignominiously 
defeated the mail-rider, had taken no chances on 
returning the colt to its pasture, but had tied it 
at the roadside and vanished in the woods. He 
probably did not even know that he was pur- 
sued, but just acted upon the intuition that 
seldom failed to get him out safely from his 
innumerable “ scrapes.” 

“ If ever there was a boy foreordained to be a 
torment to his fellow-creatures,” said the Rev. 
Mr. McLeod, “ that Danny Mulveilis one ! I ’m 
sure I can see for his future anything but a 
happy or creditable career, and if he comes to 
the gallows I shall not be surprised.” 

“ You didn’t even get to see the race, did 
you ?” asked one of the men, in a tone of sym- 
pathy and with a twinkle in his eye. 

“ See the race ! I only wish I had— close 
enough to have got hold of that boy !” 

“ If you ever think of putting the colt on the 
turf, Danny would be about as good a jockey as 
you could get. I tell you, he knows how to 
ride. He went by here in grand shape.” 

The indignant clergyman looked at the speaker 


62 


OUR HETTY. 


for a moment in disgusted silence, and, without 
trusting himself to reply, rode away. 

There were a good many chuckles and quiet 
jests behind his back, for Danny, having won 
the race, had come in for a large share of the 
popular sympathy, and the incident served to 
put in good humor everybody except the rival 
athletes, whose feeling was not simply factional 
but personal. 

“We ’ll have more chance another time to find 
out who is the better man between us,” said 
Rufus, menacingly, in a low tone, passing near 
to John. 

“ You ’ll never find me unready,” replied the 
latter with an air of indifference that bordered 
upon insolence. “ A Cameron never turned his 
back bn a Mulveil, or anything that wore a Mul- 
veil collar.” 

The angry retort on Goldie’s lips was silenced 
by the authoritative interposition of one of the 
old men, a Mulveil, who, forcibly taking him by 
the arm, led him aside and hissed in his ear: 

“ Can’t ye bide yer time, ye fule ? Don’t you 
see they ’re nearly two to our one here to-day ?” 


CHAPTER VI. 



A VILLAGE MILTON. 

The Elder-township school-house, a rude, 
roomy log structure, surrounded by large maple- 
trees, stood at the forest’s edge, on one of the 
hill-slopes swelling gently up from the Raccoon 
Creek Valley, opposite the Devil’s Backbone. 
That location had been selected for it, simply 
because it was central and consequently equally 
convenient for the twenty-five or thirty scholars 
who came to it from all directions. But the 
choice had been a most fortunate one, since it 
had far more to do than the school-board ever 
imagined with getting and keeping there a 
model schoolmaster. Mr. Clinton V. Parsons, 
the master in question, was “a singular man,” in 
the eyes of the entire community. Nobody ever 
heard him avow a like or a dislike, or even 
express a preference. He was indifferent to 
everything, placid under all circumstances, in- 
terested in nothing, notwithstanding such scru- 
pulous fidelity in the discharge of his duties as 
might only have been naturally expected from 
one mastered by an enthusiasm or having an 

[53] - 


64 


OUR HETTY. 


ambition to serve. An impression prevailed in 
the minds of those who knew him that he “just 
loved the mountain.” So he did. 

He had all the furniture of the school-room 
shifted about, so that at his desk he commanded 
a view of that majestic rocky countenance and 
could admire the various masks it assumed. 
Sometimes, when the scholars had gone home, 
he would sit on the doorstep, smoking his pipe 
and gazing at the cliff, watching its beauties glow 
in the strong light of the setting sun and fade as 
darkness fell. And in the mornings he was often 
seated there at dawn, hours before school-time, 
surely for no other purpose than to see the sun 
rise beyond the great hill, first as a roseate soft- 
ness in the gray of the eastern sky, next as an 
auriferous glory resting upon the summit, while 
the vast mass in shadow beneath frowned darkly. 
Still, he was never betrayed into saying that he 
liked it. 

Three springs the master had seen the bourg- 
eoning of the shrubs and trees that masked the 
stupendous wall of rock, and this was the fourth 
year in which he had beheld them assume their 
brief autumnal splendors. Still, the ever-chang- 
ing yet never-lost loveliness of the prospect con- 
tinued to fascinate him. He could have got a 
larger salary in either of three adjoining town- 
ships than he was paid here, for his fame as an 
educator and trainer, particularly in competitive 
orthography, was widespread. But, year after 


A VILLAGE MILTON. 


55 


year, he came around for the school season in 
Elder township, and nobody could think of any 
other possible attraction for him than the Devil’s 
Backbone. There were, each season, three or 
four, at least, and sometimes seven or eight, big 
girls in attendance at the school — girls old 
enough to be married ; handsome, rosy-cheeked, 
red-lipped, bright-eyed, large-limbed girls, upon 
whom few bachelors could have gazed without 
interest. But Mr. Parsons, as they themselves 
said, minded them no more than if they were 
bumps on a log. Certainly he was “a singular 
man,” and he looked it. His eyes were large 
and very black, his complexion a dead white and 
his hair long, straight and black as his eyes. In 
repose, his face would have been pronounced by 
the casual observer, absolutely expressionless, but 
a careful physiognomist would have read in it 
stern, never-relaxing self-suppression. Was there 
fire under that mask of ice? Or had his will 
extinguished even the embers? That was his 
secret, and he kept it well. 

It was not even known where he came from ; 
where he went to during the summer ; scarcely 
who he was. When asked about the first he 
replied : 

“ From Maine near the Texas line — ” 
the second : 

“ When the Gulf of Mexico is frozen over, I 
go somewhere else — ” 
and the third : 


56 


OUR HETTY. 


“ 1 have myself been all my life trying to find 
out." 

Of course, the women set afloat a romantic 
rumor about him, and one of the brightest and 
most impudent girl asked him, bluntly : 

“ Is it true, Mr. Parsons, that you have been 
unhappy in love?" 

“No," he replied, “I never married." 

In his hours of leisure, when he was not con- 
templating the Devil’s Backbone, he read Plato, 
which caused some of the elders to suspect him 
of heterodoxy. One of them, whose faith ex- 
ceeded his knowledge, took it upon him to 
demand of the schoolmaster “ what sort of a 
Christian ’ he was. 

“ A pessimist," replied Mr. Parsons. 

“Oh! Ah! Is that anything like a Calvin- 
ist?" 

“ Exactly the same," was his languid assur- 
ance. 

He never argued ; it was not worth while. 
He never hunted or angled ; as he had all the 
food he wanted without needing to kill anything. 
He never attended dances or went sleigh-riding ; 
because he took no unnecessary exercise and 
had no reason for going anywhere. His exist- 
ence seemed laid out altogether on negative 
lines. Nothing surprised, excited or ruffled him. 
Rarely he smiled, and his words were few. And, 
withal, he seemed to know things by intuition, 
in the strangest way. 


A VILLAGE MILTON. 


57 


For instance, Danny Mulveil— the day after 
his race on the minister’s colt — blew up the 
school-house stove by means of a “ loaded ” 
block of coal. He had never done anything 
more cunningly in his life. Jimmy Dunbar — 
who carried in the block and put it where the 
master would himself be likely to throw it on 
the fire — was the only person who knew Danny 
had bored the hole, put in the powder and 
plugged it, and Jimmy certainly had not be- 
trayed him. Yet Mr. Parsons did not so much 
as lift an eyebrow when the thing went off, and, 
while the stove-pipe was clattering down, the 
stove-lid tumbling across the room, the live coals 
scattering over the floor, and the air full of 
smoke, ashes and girls’ screams, he said with 
perfect placidity : 

“Danny Mulveil and James Dunbar will 
remain. The other scholars may go home.” 

He asked no questions ; uttered no reproaches ; 
made no threats. He simply set the boys to 
work, repairing damages and cleansing the 
school-room, a punitive toil of sufficient diffi- 
culty to make them seriously regret their effort 
to have fun with him. While they worked, he 
looked on, smoking and in silence. 

A dismal-looking, lean, little man, dressed in a 
rusty-black suit and a threadbare, long, blue cloak, 
came in and setting down a square, leathern 
portmanteau that seemed heavy, asked permis- 
sion to warm himself at the fire. Laconically 


58 


OUR HETTY. 


but not unkindly, the master replied : “ Cer- 
tainly,” and pushed toward him a stool, upon 
which he sank down, spreading his white, numb 
fingers close to the glowing stove. 

“ 1 'm a colporteur, sir,” he said, shyly. 

Mr. Parson’s nod seemed to reply that the fact 
was self-evident, though his lips did not move. 

“ I don’t suppose I have any books you 
want?” resumed the little man, tentatively, after 
a short pause. 

“ 1 agree with you.” 

“ 1 have a volume of very edifying sermons by 
that eminent divine, the Rev. Mr. Mucklebane — 
just issued.” 

“ Pity.” 

“ What is a pity ?” 

“ That they have been issued.” 

“ Gh ! Ah! Yes. Well, between ourselves, 
this time I agree with you. The public does not 
take kindly to Mucklebane. I have lugged a half- 
dozen copies of him, for as many days — and he 
is very heavy — without selling a single one.” 

The speaker edged as close to the stove as he 
could and put his half-frozen feet upon its base. 
In a low, dreary monotone, he went on : 

“No; nobody wants Mucklebane or much of 
anything I sell. And if my sales are not good, 
I starve, for my commissions are very small. 
Eleven miles 1 have trudged to-day and sold 
nothing. And yesterday it was the same, except 
that I sold one ‘ Crook in the Lot ’ for thirty 


A VILLAGE MILTON. 


59 


cents. A young man over on Robinson’s Run 
would have taken a set of Doctor Dick if 1 had 
had him, but I was loaded up with Mucklebane 
and no Dick. Just my luck. Twenty miles 
from Pittsburg, a snowstorm coming on and a 
boxful of Mucklebane. Perhaps you would like 
*The Two Sons of Oil,’ by an eminent Pittsburg 
divine, sir.” 

“ Perhaps I might, but I shall never know 
whether I would or not.” 

While replying, the schoolmaster took a sil- 
ver dollar from his pocket and put it into the 
unhappy colporteur’s hand. 

“ What is this for, sir?” the man asked, doubt- 
ingly. 

“How should I know ? Whatever you need 
most.” 

The poor fellow hesitated, the hand that held 
the money trembled, and a faint tinge of color 
showed in his cheeks, as he replied : 

“ But I— I can’t accept charity.” 

“ It is not charity but simply adjustment, in 
some degree, of accidentally unbalanced rela- 
tions in life.” 

“ I do not understand you.” 

“ I happen to have, and you happen to need. 
In our comrnon humanity your need constitutes 
a claim upon me, and my recognition of the 
justice of that claim is a duty, not a charity. I 
do not say that if you had not honestly tried 
to get along, even to the desperate extent of 


60 


OUR HETTY. 


endeavoring to force Mucklebane upon a re- 
jective world, your claim would be so good as it 
is, but in no case could I ignore it altogether." 

“ It is a strange doctrine. What sect teaches 

it r 

“ All. Heathens practice it." 

There were tears in the man’s eyes, and his 
voice quavered, as he said : 

“ God knows I need it — bitterly need it. 
What misery I have known since trying to live 
by this wretched trade. It has driven me to 
that which — " 

“ Hello ! You here already !" burst out a big 
voice at the door, as a huge man strode in amid 
a wild whirl of snow-flakes. He shook himself, 
and the snow tumbled off him in masses. 

“ 1 have been here since dismissing school. It 
was necessary for me to remain, to have repaired 
the disorder occasioned by some boyish mischief 
this afternoon." 

“ Danny’s mischief, I ’d bet ?’’ 

“ Yes. When that was done, the threaten- 
ing storm made me think my pipe a sufficient 
supper." 

“ Too light a supper for me. I ’ve got to 
have something to chew and swallow three 
times a day.’’ 

While talking, the big man perched upon the 
end of a desk, near the stove, where he looked 
even more enormous than he had at the door. 
In a reflective tone, he went on : 


A VILLAGE MILTON. 


61 


“ I don’t know what gets into that boy. I 
expect every day to have to arrest him for some- 
thing that will send him to the penitentiary. 
The minister could come mighty nigh sending 
him there, if he wanted to, for malicious mis- 
chief, if not downright stealing.” 

The colporteur, who had visibly started at the 
word “arrest,” stared fixedly at him, as if fascin- 
ated, but the big man went on speaking with- 
out noticing him : 

“ I ’d hate to have to take up a cousin of mine, 
especially a boy ; but a constable has got to do 
his duty, and it looks as if nothing short of that 
will ever do Danny any good.” 

“ I — I — think I ’d best be going !” nervously 
exclaimed the little colporteur, who had risen 
and now stood apprehensively tugging his poor, 
thin cloak more tightly about him, as he looked 
at the whiteness of the window, where nothing 
could be seen but snow. 

“ You know best, 1 presume,” answered Mr. 
Parsons. 

Advice or direction which did not clearly fall 
within the lines of his duty as a schoolmaster he 
rarely, if ever, indulged in. 

The large constable on the desk looked down 
indifferently at the book-vender, and did not 
seem to have anything to say to him until he 
was on his way to the door, but then asked, sud- 
denly : 

“ Say ! Weren’t you here about a month ago ?” 


62 


OUR HETTY. 


“ I — no — that is — yes, possibly. A month or 
two, I guess. I don’t remember now the exact 
time.” 

“ Thought 1 ’d seen you.” 

Neither question nor comment was uttered 
with any specific purpose. Each was a mere 
idea that had floated up to the surface of -his 
mind. But each seemed to hasten the departure 
of the colporteur, who quickly said: “Good 
day !” and stepped out, with his heavy load of 
Muckelbane, into the storm. 

It was hardly day at all, and it certainly was 
not a good day. Night, of the ordinary sort, 
was not due for a good half-hour yet, but a gray 
night had already set in. The air was full of a 
niveous brightness, from the white, icy crystals 
that filled it. Light could not penetrate it 
more than a few yards in any direction steadily, 
but there were momentary glimpses afforded, 
through the wildly whirling mass of snow-flakes, 
of objects far away, that, so seen, loomed up in 
exaggerated proportions, with, a weird effect of 
obvious unreality. The wind was violent and 
unceasing, blowing, as sailors say, “ from all 
quarters at once,” and the dry, sharp snow, 
dashed and swept by it in vast billows and 
swirls, stung like needle-points, the thin, white 
face of the little colporteur. A myriad of 
unseen hands seemed clutching his thin, flapping 
cloak and striving to drag it from his shoulders. 

Stumbling, sliding, shielding his eyes as well 


A VILLAGE MILTON. 


63 


as he could and groaning beneath the weight of 
his load, which seemed to grow heavier at every 
moment, he shuffled along down the slope into 
the valley, now and then glancing furtively 
back over his shoulder. Until he had left the 
little grove of maples well behind him, the air 
above and around was full of tones, as if from a 
great aeolian harp ; but in the open valley, 
oppressive stillness, broken only by an occa- 
sional angry scream of the wind high overhead, 
surrounded him. 

“ A queer-looking, little Dick, that,” remarked 
big constable Sim Mulveil, when the door closed 
behind the book-vender ; “ and not overly well 
fixed to be out in an all-tarnation storm like 
this.” 

“ He is unfortunate.” 

“Yes; and so are we. It’s consumedly un- 
fortunate that this consarned snow-fall should 
come on the first night of the spellin’-school this 
season.” 

“Oh, the young folks will not mind it — or, per- 
haps I should rather say, they will like it, since 
it will bring sleigh-riding, which they esteem a 
pleasure.” 

“Well, I guess we’d better be gettin’ ready 
for ’em. I brung along a lot of candles, and I 
suppose the old candlesticks we used last winter 
have got to be fetched down from the loft.” 

“ No ; I had them taken down and cleaned 
yesterday. They are piled behind my desk.” 


64 


OUR HETTY. 


“ Good ! I ’ll put them up. Guess you ’re 
right. Raccoon-Creek gals will turn out well, 
no matter whether there ’s a snow-storm or not, 
and we want to get the place bright and cheer- 
ful, so ’s they ’ll want to come again.” 

The little colporteur had struggled on until 
the mighty wall of the Devil’s Backbone stood 
squarely up before him, bleak and black, seem- 
ing vast and inaccessible. Its head was far up 
in the very home of the tempest ; its front cov- 
ered with a writhing, twisting, quivering mass of 
arms, the leafless branches of the trees, that 
threatened and ‘fought with the storm. The 
highway he was on ran along the creek to a 
little bridge half a mile farther down stream, 
across which lay the road that ascended the 
acclivity at its end. Each moment, as he 
trudged steadily toward the bridge, he glanced 
up at the frowning mountain. More and more 
repellent, even aggressive, it seemed. He grew 
afraid of it. At length he turned suddenly and 
ran down a cross-road that took him directly 
away from it, sobbing as he went : 

“No! No I I can’t do it! Not to save my 
life ! Not even for their sakes !” 


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CHAPTER VII. 

ORTHOGRAPHY AND CUPID. 

Elder township claimed to hold the orthogra- 
phic championship of Washington County. 
Three successive winters it had, in a series of 
spelling matches, held toward the close of the 
school seasons, defeated each of the adjoining 
townships, and none of those more distant ven- 
tured to contest its proudly vaunted claim to 
supremacy. Such amiable distinction had not 
been lightly won, and that it had been gained 
was due almost wholly to the persistent deter- 
mination and educational ability of Mr. Parsons. 
Each winter, almost as soon as he opened school, 
he took the preliminary steps in the annual cam-, 
paign. To begin with, he held two or three 
general spelling contests, to bring out the best 
orthographic talent of the community, from which 
he made up his class for special training. Main- 
taining standing in that class involved really 
hard work, for it was held only by merit. One 
by one its weaker members were weeded out 

[65] 


66 


OUR HETTY. 


until only those remained who had a just con- 
fidence in themselves and in one another. 

Had not the master, single-handed, the first 
winter he was here, defeated the neighboring 
townships ! Ever since then he had been “ ruled 
out” from active participation in the matches, it 
being generally conceded that he was “just the 
same as a dictionary.” Every tricky little word, 
made difficult by the inclusion of letters that had 
no reasonable business in it, was known to him ; 
with every contorted polysyllabic horror that 
no ordinary man could be expected to remember, 
he was upon terms of untrammeled intimacy; 
with every absurd word, spelled one way and 
pronounced another, he was familiar. The 
dictionary might, perhaps, know more about the 
mere meanings of words, but for their real use, 
that of being spelled, “it could give him no 
points.” 

Very bright and cheerful the old school-house 
interior was that stormy night, when people 
began to arrive. A rude candelabrum, made 
from a discarded buggy-wheel, pendent in the 
center of the room, supported a dozen candles ; 
other candles, on the schoolmaster’s desk, flank- 
ing the dictionary — which was displayed for 
style rather than use — and along the walls, made 
the place almost brilliant. Desks were piled 
out of the way and benches arranged in a double 
row on three sides of a central hollow square, as 
if for a dance. The stove glowed red, and the 


ORTHOGRAPHY AND CUPID. 


67 


big pot of water upon it steamed like a sap-ket- 
tle in sugar-making time. All these arrange- 
ments were the work of industrious Simeon Mul- 
veil, the constable. He never knew clearly the 
line at which his official responsibilities ended, 
and, being determined to do his whole duty, was 
always ready lor any service that the public 
interest seemed to him to demand. 

“ Early candle-light ” being the understood 
hour for commencement of the proceedings and 
the participants being prompt — notwithstanding 
the storm, which only seemed to stimulate the 
hearty humor of all — the big school-room was 
soon filled by a bustling, mildly excited throng 
of friends and neighbors. 

Whether it was due to the elevating influence 
of a study of orthography or to the mollifying 
effect of the presence of so many pretty girls may 
not be with certainty averred, but the fact is be- 
yond dispute that at the spelling-school meetings 
not even a remembrance of that old grudge be- 
tween the Camerons and the Mulveils ventured 
to show its ugly head. And this was really sur- 
prising, since at these earlier stages in the work 
of selection and training, two-thirds of those pres- 
ent would be in fighting humor before the even- 
ing was over. Mr. Parsons had a way of using 
keen sarcasms as pins to fasten in the memories 
of his class remembrance of the words they failed 
on, and, while his biting speeches certainly had 
that effect, they stirred up in his victims im- 


68 


OUR HETTY. 


pulses of rage that were often hard to repress. 
The girls sometimes could scarcely keep from 
crying, but if they had wept, Mr. Parsons would 
not have minded it in the least. Severity was, 
from his point of view, a necessary means to the 
end in which all had a common interest, and, after 
his verbal lash had ceased stinging, even the 
victims conceded that he was right. 

Old folks and young, married and single, 
maids and bachelors, all took the floor, spelled 
as long as they could without error, and one by 
one went down in the struggle for survival of the 
orthographically fittest. Even the most enthusi- 
astic advocate of spelling-matches as an improv- 
ing sort of amusement could hardly have con- 
scientiously pronounced the exercises altogether 
free from a flavor of monotony. Old Cyrus 
Ramsey made a welcome variation, when he was 
ignominiously thrown by “ psilpphyton,’’ and 
talked back, avowing his convictions that the 
word was wrongly spelled in the dictionary and 
that it was an estray from some outlandish for- 
eign language, which had no place properly in 
an English dictionary, anyway. 

Under cover of the general hilarity over that 
episode, John Cameron, finding the gradual 
reduction of the class had brought him and 
Hetty Mulveil side by side, seized the oppor- 
tunity to whisper to her : 

“ May I take you home to-night ?” 

With such a thrill of gladness in her heart as 


ORTHOGRAPHY AND CUPID. 


69 


made it hard for her to look unconscious and 
whisper low, she answered : 

'‘Yes.” ^ 

Only one word, and uttered in a tone not 
louder than a gentle sigh, but it prolonged itself 
in waves of delicious music in John’s brain and 
dulled his sense of meaner sounds and things, 
so that he was promptly floored by a word that 
he knew as well as his own name, and had to 
sit down. But he didn’t mind the temporary 
defeat. He was certain of being one of the elect, 
anyway. Parsons knew he could be depended 
upon in a serious emergency. But he did wish 
the school-master would not look so confound- 
edly knowing as if he understood how that word 
came to be missed. 

Rufus Goldie, who had come to grief early in 
the game, having had more than an hour of 
nothing else to do than sit still and look at the 
girls, had made up his mind that Hetty Mulveil 
was the flower of the collection and that he 
would escort her home. It made him smile to 
think how cunningly he would maneuver to 
secure her company in advance of others less 
ingenious, who might have the same idea. 
Quietly he slipped out, when he saw that the 
exercises were drawing to a close, got his bor- 
rowed horse and cutter ready, returned and 
stood waiting. The instant the class was dis- 
missed, he stepped quickly up to Hetty and, 
with what he deemed his most fascinating com- 


70 


OUR HETTY. 


bination smirk and bow, proffered the customary 
formal invitation : 

“ May I have the pleasure of escorting you, 
Miss Mulveil ?” 

Thanks," she replied, coolly. “ My arrange- 
ments are already made." 

Already ! Rufus was not simply surprised ; he 
was astounded. The possibility that his attentions 
might not be welcomed, even eagerly, had not oc- 
curred to him ; and his egotism suffered a rude 
shock. A couple of girls, who had heard both 
proposition and declination, giggled mischiev- 
ously, and he knew that his having got the mit- 
ten " would be a popular theme for heartless 
merriment at his expense. Worse yet, other 
girls, not wishing to have it said they would 
accept what Hetty Mulveil rejected, would also 
“ give him the mitten " if he made advances to 
them. Confused and red with anger, he stood 
aside, sullenly determined to see what her 
“arrangements" were. In a minute more, he 
was satisfied — bitterly. 

John Cameron, having unblanketed his horse 
and seen that the robes in the cutter were all 
right, returned to the school-room, with his big 
driving-coat on and his fur cap in his hand. 
Exultant happiness lighted up his handsome 
face, and he walked straight to Hetty, seeming 
to be conscious of nobody else, as if she had 
been alone among trees, instead of surrounded 
by other young persons. And Hetty, meeting 


ORTHOGRAPHY AND CUPID. 


71 


him with a smile, resigned herself to his assist- 
ance and care. He helped to put on her heavy 
cloak ; aided in wrapping about her head the 
great, fleecy-white comforter, that was to keep 
her shapely ears from fr^zing ; buttoned her 
gloves and tied the strings of the red woolen 
mitts that covered them. Then he put her hand 
on his arm and led her out to the sleigh, where 
he tucked her in warmly among the robes. 

Rufus Goldie watched the proceedings, and, 
metaphorically speaking, gnashed the teeth of 
his soul. To have been “ cut out ” by any other 
man would have been bad enough, but that John 
Cameron should be his successful rival seemed 
to him an especial aggravation by malignant 
fate. Rolling the subject around in his mind it 
soon began to assume a strange form and color. 
He actually succeeded in making himself believe 
that he was in love with Hetty Mulveil. He 
was not really so ; his feeling was wounded van- 
ity, not jealousy : nevertheless the hallucination 
took an ineradicable hold upon him and, by per- 
sistent cherishing, eventually achieved a very 
strong simulation of reality, sufficient, in his estim- 
ation, to justify the intensified hate with which 
he regarded John Cameron. 

But there was no such false analysis of impulses 
in the mind of the big constable, Simeon Mul- 
veil. He was really and thoroughly in love with 
his pretty cousin Hetty, and had only been 
restrained by bashfulness from plainly setting 


72 


OUR HETTY. 


forth that fact to her long ago. Being at least a 
dozen years her senior, he had made the mistake 
of too long continuing to look upon her as a 
child. During at least a year past he had been 
saying to himself very erroneously that which 
he had been quite correct in, two or three years 
before : 

“ She is too young to marry yet, and it would 
only scare her to say anything about it ; but, 
when the time comes, I ’ll be there.” 

Well, the time had come and he was not there ; 
a fact that he was instantly and painfully con- 
scious of when he met John and Hetty together 
coming out of the school-house door. What he 
saw in their faces and attitudes in that moment 
made him know that he had waited too long. 
Perhaps, for aught he then knew, only a day ; 
but that was enough for all the mischief possible 
to his cherished hopes. And that very evening 
his campaign was to have opened ! He had 
formulated what seemed to him an excellent 
plan for winning her by gradual approaches, 
commencing by taking her home in his sleigh 
from that first spelling-school of the season, and 
thenceforth, by weight of established precedent, 
continuing to do so all winter. By the time 
spring should come, he would have won her. 
After the first step, all would be easv. And 
now the first step had been taken — by John Cam- 
eron ! The recollection of that name added 
fuel to the fire of his jealous wrath. That a 


ORTHOGRAPHY AND CUPID. 


73 


Cameron should come poaching on the Mulveil 
preserves, capturing the fairest Mulveil in the 
valley, was unendurable. Simeon was in a fit 
mood for almost any desperate deed when he 
threw himself into his sleigh alone and lashed 
his horse into a gallop to be all the sooner away 
from the sound of voices and the sight of people. 

Little knew or cared John and Hetty of the 
evil passions they left behind them as they sped 
swiftly away, to the merry jingle of the sleigh- 
bells and the confidential “ ’sh, 'sh ” of the crisp, 
fresh-fallen snow. John could drive well with 
his right hand, which was fortunate, since his 
left was needed to hold Hetty securely in the 
cutter ; and she nestled close up to him as if 
afraid she might fall out. 

“ I 've always rather liked spelling-schools,” 
said he, when they were well under way, “ but 
I 've a better opinion of them now than ever.” 

“ Why, I hardly thought we did so well 
to-night as at the beginning, last year,” she 
replied, demurely. 

“ I *m not thinking about that. So far as spell- 
ing is concerned, I wouldn’t care if the diction- 
ary was kicked over the moon. This is what I ’m 
crowing about, this— right now.” 

“ Why ? Are you so fond of sleighing, Mr. 
Cameron ?” 

“Sleighing! Yes, J guess so, when I’ve got 
the dearest, sweetest, best girl in the world 
tucked in alongside me.” 


OUR HETTY. 


Y4 


“ Oh ! Don’t squeeze me so ! You 're strong 
as a bear, John.” 

“ Did I hurt you, Hetty ? I’m real sorry. 
Indeed, I am. 1 didn’t mean to. It seems as if 
I was bound to be dangerous to you every time 
I come near you. First, I shoot you. You 
don’t know how sorry I ’ve been about that or 
how I ’ve thought over it ever since.” 

“Don’t do so any more. You were not to 
blame, and it didn’t amount to anything at all.” 

“And you’re sure you haven’t got any hard 
feelings against me for it?” 

“ Why, of course I have not. What an absurb 
idea !” 

“Will you prove it?” 

“ Prove it ? Why, how ?” 

“ By paying toll without a fight at the little 
bridge over the run that we are just coming to.” 

“ I don’t see what good it would do for me to 
fight with such a big, strong man as you are.” 

“ Oh, Hetty, one look out of your eyes has 
more power than all my strength!” 

“ How you do go on, John !” 

“Yes; we go on together — on the bridge, 
now.” 

She did not fight — of course not. Had she 
not already recognized the uselessness of attempt- 
ing to do so? And their lips met frankly in a 
long, ardent kiss, the sweet sacrifice Love lays 
upon the altar of Custom, under the pretty, 
time-honored excuse of “ paying toll.” 



CHAPTER VIII. 

J O H N’S L O V E-M A K I N G. 

“ Until Sunday evening, then, Hetty.” 

“ Until Sunday evening, John.” 

Those were the parting words between the 
lovers at the close of that happy ride from 
the spelling-school. Commonplace and unsenti- 
mental as a produce-market report they look 
in plain, cold type, but that is simply because 
« the material inadequately shadows forth the 
spiritual. Love decks dull speech with the 
evanescent glamour of its own illusory charms. 
A glance, a blush, a sigh, a tremulous intonation, 
a pressure of the hand give to words such mean- 
ings as may not be found in any printed lexicons. 
Platitudes become poetic sublimities in the es- 
timation of love, that egotistical passion which 
finds all things good wherein it may, in fancy, 
see its own reflection. Even twice two are 
four ” may be, by love’s magic, lifted from its 
low estate as an unexciting arithmetical axiom 

[75] 


76 


OUR HETTY. 


up to the plane of glowing passion, and go, 
trembling and thrilling with the power of a kiss, 
from one fond heart to another. Perhaps the 
significance so bestowed upon words may be 
wholly imaginary, but there or philosophers who 
affirm that the imaginary is the only truly real. 

***** 

And now it is Sunday evening ; and John, in 
pursuance of that engagement, is rapidly nearing 
the widow Mulveirs, while Hetty is momentarily 
peeping out of the window to learn if he is yet 
in sight. And is he thinking only of her — occu- 
pied exclusively with thoughts of love? Hardly. 
He is nearing the imp as well as the angel. 
While he is courting Hetty in the house, his 
horse and cutter will be for hours at the mercy 
of Danny in the barn, and what deviltry may 
not be expected of that boy under such circum- 
stances ? Happily his horse is a famous kicker, 
and if Danny attempts to shave the animal’s tail, 
there are strong grounds for the cheering hope 
that Danny will never smile again. Of course, 
the mischievous urchin will be likely to take out 
the shaft-bolts of the cutter and hide them, but 
John has another pair and a wrench in his over- 
coat pocket, so that will not be serious. Noth- 
ing is more probable than that the imp will 
saturate the sleigh-robes with water, which will 
be solid ice by the time John will want to go 
home. John debates with himself the advisa- 


John’s love-making. 


Yr 

bility of carrying the robes into the house, and 
concludes that it will hardly do. Mrs. Mulveil 
might take offense at the implied suspicion con- 
cerning the safety of visitors’ personal property 
in her barn ; and, really, the robes would be no 
safer in the house, unless he should. sit on them 
all evening. They will have to take their 
chances. But what else might Danny do? That 
boy’s possibilities are not so much to be dreaded 
for what may be expected of him, as because of 
the infinite potentiality of unforeseeable cussed- 
ness latent in him. 

Suddenly John’s mind is lighted up by discov- 
ery of a means for averting the danger. Not in 
vain had the Rev. Mr. McLeod preached from 
that text about “ making friends with the Mam- 
mon of unrighteousness.” 

While John is arriving at a resolution to make 
friends with Danny, at any reasonable sacrifice, 
that happy boy is having fun in the barn with a 
thin-skinned, mettlesome young mare, haltered 
in one of the stalls. Safe in an adjoining stall, 
he reaches out from time to time and snaps 
against the mare’s unprotected hindquarters a 
thin strip of India-rubber, cut from a worn-out 
“ gum-elastic ” overshoe — one of the old-fash- 
ioned kind we had before the vulcanizing of 
caoutchouc was invented. The snap is not par- 
ticularly painful, but the sensitive animal, resent- 
ing it as an indignity and annoyed by it until she 
is half-mad with nervous rage, squeals and kicks 


OtJR HETTf. 


Y8 

frantically, to Danny’s unspeakable delight. 
The climax of his enjoyment comes when John, 
leading his horse in on the barn floor, passes 
behind the mare, and nearly has his brains kicked 
out by her flying heels. There would be a bad 
quarter of an hour for the sprightly youth, if 
John Cameron were not so deeply and hope- 
lessly in love with H'etty. But a lover is a crea- 
ture devoid of free will. Even at the conscious 
sacrifice of duty and self-respect, he turns his 
back upon Themis to kneel before Eros. So 
John, instead of giving the evil urchin the 
trouncing he deserves, speaks him fair, seeks to 
win his good will, and even bestows upon him a 
silver half-dollar. Words do not go far with 
Danny, who shrewdly divines the situation, and 
feels himself master of it, but that princely gift 
of coin wins his allegiance. Never before has 
he had, at one time, so large a sum of money all 
his own, and his good fortune fairly overwhelms 
him. Prone to be as impulsively grateful as he 
is mischievous, he is henceforth an earnest parti- 
san of John, who little realizes how effective an 
ally he has so cheaply secured. The boy, whose 
unconsciously adopted motto is “ deeds, not 
words,” has little to say, but Hetty may count 
upon trouble with him if she does not show 
proper favor, in his estimation, to the young 
man of his choice. 

Dim is the brightness of the big fire in the 
sitting-room grate, by comparison with the light 


John’s love-making. 


79 


shining from Hetty’s happy soul through her 
beautiful eyes, and cold its glow beside her wel- 
come ; but her mother’s greeting of the young 
wooer is barely tolerant, nothing more. 

John lays his big driving-gloves on the stand, 
beside the family Bible and the lamp, takes the 
seat offered him near the fire and makes some 
show of warming his fingers to cover his embar- 
rassment, for this is his first plunge into real 
courting, and he is somewhat at a loss for the 
proper course of procedure. It makes him feel 
awkward to have that old woman sitting oppo- 
site, eying him so critically. He remarks that 
the weather is cold and has seemed to be grow- 
ing colder since sundown. Hetty evinces inter- 
est in his observations, but Mrs. Mulveil merely 
sniffs what he feels to be her ineffable contempt 
for such a hollow conversational pretense. Striv- 
ing to appear at ease, he looks about him. 

On the wall, fronting him, but too high to 
reflect his face, is a mirror. He wonders if it 
would make him double-nosed, like the one in 
his bedroom at home, or run his chin away off to 
the left and end it with a sharp point, as his 
mother’s mirror does. All the mirrors he knows 
anything about do some such queer things. Sev- 
eral vividly colored lithographs adorn the room : 
George Washington, with his right hand in his 
breast, and looking very haughty ; Gen. Winfield 
Scott, with a fierce expression and mounted on a 
pale horse, like Death in the Apocalypse ; Andrew 


80 


OtTR HETTY. 


Jackson, whose hair stands up so very stiffly that 
it seems to hurt him ; “ Contentment,'’ a simper- 
ing maiden, with long curls, a red rose over her 
right ear and a basket of cherries ' in her lap ; 
“ Hope,” another lackadaisical maid, ,with a 
white rose in her hair, and her eyes fixed upon 
the apparition of an anchor in the sky. But the 
* chief work of art is a “ sampler,” done in colored 
wools, upon canvas, by Mrs. Mulveil, in her girl- 
hood, by her affirmed to be “ Rebecca at the 
Well,” but very liable to be mistaken for Abra- 
ham at the altar upon which he purposes sacrific- 
ing Isaac. 

The most impressive article of furniture in 
sight is a mahogany chest of drawers, very large 
and darkened by age, with handles and orna- 
ments of polished brass. Fox’s “ Book of Mar- 
tyrs” and “The World and All it Contains”- — 
the latter a surprisingly small volume for so 
large a title — are on the chest of drawers, to- 
gether with a conch-shell, which is so propped up 
by a hymn-book that one does not readily notice 
how Danny has caved it in with a hammer, “ to 
find where its roar comes from.” 

Mary Elder glides in, sits beside Hetty and 
whispers to her : 

“ Oh ! How much he reminds me of Grant 
Gutfirie !” 

Doubtless any other presentable young man, 
coming on John’s mission, would equally remind 
the poor, lonely soul of her dead-and-gone lover, 


John’s love-making. 


81 


but she actually does find so painful the memor- 
ies evoked, that in a short time she withdraws, 
and John sees her no more during the evening. 

Mrs. Mulveil, not having her knitting in hand 
— this being Sunday evening — takes “'cat-naps ” 
of uncertain length, before the lire, demonstrat- 
ing a perverse capacity for coming broadly 
awake the instant he tries making love to Hetty. 
Each time her eyes fly open she starts a new 
theme for conversation, without regard to what 
preceded it. In this way, the goring of one of 
her most prorfiising heifers by an ill-conditioned 
cow, is forced upon John’s unwilling attention. 
The last-mentioned subject revives recollection 
of the old quarrel over a somewhat similar 
incident between the Cameron and the Mulveil 
now peacefully slumbering, side by side, in the 
church-yard, and she grows moody and sullen. 
If John Cameron were not the best “ catch” in 
that part of the county, how quickly she would 
show him the door. 

John is beginning to wonder if the old woman 
intends to “sit him out,” or if she will go off to 
bed at nine o’clock, as a properly considerate 
mother should, and leave him to “ sit up ” with 
Hetty. Fifteen minutes more, if the tall clock 
in the corner is right, will decide the question. 
He steals an inquiring glance at Hetty, and she, 
understanding him, flashes back a bright, reas- 
suring smile. 

Away out on the road, but momentarily com- 


82 


OUR HETTY. 


ing nearer, they hear the jingle of sleigh-bells. 
The silvery harmony comes up the lane, passing 
the house, and goes on to the barn. 

“ For the land’s sake ! Who’s that, at this 
time of night?” exclaims Mrs. Mulveil. 

John and Hetty have no idea who the late 
visitor may be and exchange looks of disappoint- 
ment and annoyance. A brief period of expec- 
tant silence ensues, then there is a rap at the 
door and, of all unwelcome visitors possible, the 
least desirable to the lovers appears — none other 
than Rufus Goldie, his face dark with a forbid- 
ding scowl. 



i 



CHAPTER IX. 

A GENIAL imp’s CAMPAIGN. 

Hetty greets Goldie with cold constraint, and 
the formality with which he and John bow to 
each other is positiv^ely icy; but Mrs. Mulveil’s 
welcome is cordial. She knows very well that 
he would not be a desirable match for Hetty, 
but there is time enough to think about that.- 
Her present mood is one of gratification that his 
coming has “ put the Cameron nose out of joint.” 
So she retires for a few minutes to the kitchen ; 
gives Hetty a meaning little smile and nod when 
she returns ; says : “ Good night ” and goes off 
to bed, just as the tall clock's hands point to 
“ IX,” and its mendacious voice proclaims “ III ” 
— after the fashion of its erratic kind. 

The young men sit upon opposite sides of the 
fire-place, with Hetty equidistant between them, 
and strive to be at once courtly toward her and 
haughty toward each other. But a haughty 
demeanor is a weak and inadequate expression 
for the passion of jealousy, and sometimes they 

[83] 


84 


OtJR HETTY. 


find momentary relief in glaring. Rufus’s glare 
is simple, being the flower of personal hate ; but 
John’s is compound, having in it a spicy blend 
of disgust. Conversation languishes, though 
Hetty does her best to keep it going. They 
talk of the township’s prospect for winning 
another orthographical victory ; of the opening 
of the singing-school next week ; of Reuben 
Jackson running away with Mattie Forsyth, and 
of Sam Latimer running away from his wife. 
And for none of these things do they care a 
button. It is all threshing chaff ; fanning the 
east wind. The young men would much rather 
fight, and Hett}^ is rather afraid they will. 

John, unable to stand it any longer, rises and 
affects an interest in the books on the tall chest 
of drawers. Hett)^ follows and stands beside 
him, to show him the first prize she won at 
school, “ The Young Lady’s Keepsake.” He 
seizes the opportunity to whisper to her, 
through his clenched teeth : 

“ I ’ll sit him out until breakfast time, if you 
say the word.” 

“ I would,” she replied hurriedly, in a like 
suppressed tone, “ only it would make mother 
so mad. You had better leave him to me. I ’ll 
take care he doesn’t stop long — or come again. 
If you come next Sunday night you will not 
find him here.” 

His face lights up. What young man would 
not be happy when the girl of his heart so 


A GENIAL imp’s CAMPAIGN. 


85 


plainly gives him to understand her preference 
for him ? 

Placid, contented and fully acquiescent, he 
resumes his seat by the fire. Rufus, already 
made uneasy by the whispering, fancies an 
expression of triumph on his rival’s face, and 
imagines that an understanding has been arrived 
at between John and Hetty exactly the reverse 
of that which really exists. He is consequently 
much surprised when, after a few minutes, John 
makes a movement to rise, saying : 

“ Well, it ’s getting a sort o’ late, and I guess I 
had better be going.” 

“ Why, it ’s early yet, Mr. Cameron,” exclaims 
Hetty, with affected protest, but a merry twinkle 
in her eyes. 

“ Early is the right time for me to go,” re- 
sponds John, “ as I am going into Pittsburg with 
a load of flax in the morning, and even on an 
early start it is a long drive, with the roads as 
bad as they are now.” 

“ That is so. Well, if you must go, I will not 
detain you. Let me show you out through the 
kitchen. It’s a shorter way to the barn than by 
the path around the house.” 

With this excuse she rises to accompany him. 
The amazement of Rufus when he realizes that 
his hated rival is actually going, leaving the field 
clear to him, is beyond expression. That whis- 
pering had fully prepared him for a “sitting-out 
match,” and a suspicion begins growing in his 


86 


OUR HETTY. 


mind that in some way his position has been 
adroitly flanked, though he cannot yet see ex- 
actly how. 

“ Good night, Mr. Goldie,” says John, with 
condescending courtesy, and Rufus stiffly re- 
plies: “Goodnight.” 

The departing lover and the girl pass into the 
kitchen, closing the door behind them. John’s 
quick eye takes cognizance of a bountiful colla- 
tion set out upon the kitchen-table — the subject 
of Mrs. Mulveil’s knowing smile and nod to her 
daughter just before retiring — and he looks in- 
quiringly, but silently, from it to Hetty. Fully 
understanding him, she replies, in a low but 
emphatic tone : 

“ It ’s to be hoped he will get something to eat 
before he touches a bite that ’s there — or he ’ll 
starve.” 

The spirited girl resents her mother’s action in 
making such preparation for the unwelcome 
visitor after denying it, as she had, for the enter- 
tainment of the lover who might have rightfully 
expected it. And John instinctively compre- 
hends her feeling, knows what has happened 
just as well as if she told him, for Love is very 
clear-sighted in seeing its own reflections in the 
loved one. With impulsive, passionate fondness, 
he throws his arms about her, presses her to his 
breast, and kisses her fervently, a demonstration 
that elicits no further opposition than the gently 
uttered protest : 


A GENIAL imp’s CAMPAIGN. 


87 


‘‘ Oh, John, don’t !” 

And she has to say: “ Oh, John, don’t!” at 
least four times more before the back door is 
opened and he is gone. 

When Hetty returns to the sitting-room, she 
notices that Rufus has assumed a sulky expres- 
sion, probably resentful of her absence with 
John, which, however short, may have seemed 
long to him. It amuses her inwardly, but very 
demurely she sits down, not in her former place, 
but upon the chair John has vacated — twice as 
far away from Mr. Goldie. He says something, 
but she does not understand what, for she is 
listening to the tinkle of sleigh-bells, out at the 
barn, going down the lane and far away on the 
road, repeating over and over a melodious 
message to her, so plain that she fancies Rufus 
must hear and understand it : 

Good night ! It ’s all right ! Coming again 
next Sunday night 1” 

But to egotistic Rufus the sounds are merely 
those of jingling sleigh-bells, going away with 
the rival he has driven from the field, and he 
becomes more at ease as they grow fainter in 
the distance. At length, he felicitates himself 
for this evening, at least, his troubles are over. 
He would not think so could he know what 
Danny is doing above his head ; he might justly 
have doubts about it if he only remembered 
Danny’s existence. 

Passive loyalty is an unthinkable condition to 


88 


OUR HETTY. 


“ the Imp.” Activity is an inherent attribute of 
his being, and accident determines its manifes- 
tation in good or evil. Having voluntarily de- 
clared allegiance to John Cameron, it is with a 
noble joy that he has become aware of an oppor- 
tunity to do partisan service. He had gone to 
bed, up in the garret, before Rufus Goldie came, 
but was not yet asleep, and heard the sleigh-bells 
announcing his coming as soon as anybody. 
And when Rufus entered the sitting-room, 
Danny’s eye was upon him as soon as anybody’s, 
for the puncheon floor of his garret, which is at 
the same time the ceiling of the company apart- 
ment below, is full of crevices and knot-holes. 
With characteristic precocity, he comprehended 
the situation below him as clearly as did either 
of the participants in it — and found it delightful. 
Fate, to indemnify him for his self-restraint to- 
ward John, had brought another predestined 
victim directly to his hands. The only question 
was what should he do with him. Hurriedly 
dressing himself, he glided out to the barn and 
opened the campaign by pouring a pail of water 
over Rufus’s lap-robes in the cutter, and “ shag- 
ging ” the vehicle by tying a stout rope securely 
between the stanchions supporting its body at 
an oblique angle from left to right, near the 
runners, a happy device that rendered capsizing, 
on a rough country road, almost certain. Then 
he ran back to his observatory in the loft to 
watch and wait. When he saw John go away, 


A GENIAL imp’s CAMPAIGN. 


89 


another inspiration came to him, and now, while 
Rufus is allowing his soul to sink into the con- 
tent of fancied security and resigning himself to 
the mere sensuous charm of a pretty girl’s com- 
panionship, which he erroneously imagines love, 
Danny is busy on his account. 

By common consent the loft is Danny’s 
domain, where he stores up his wealth of uncon- 
sidered trifles and miscellaneous “ odds and 
ends,” things absolutely valueless to older eyes, 
but in a boy’s hands a very arsenal of witchcraft 
for mischief. Out of this mass of crude material 
he quickly selects and with deft fingers combines, 
working by the light of his solitary tallow candle 
and unconscious of the nipping cold, an amazing 
and terrible-looking spider. Its body, which 
must have weight, is made of a large bullet, cleft 
to hold a string and wound around with a fluffy 
bunch of red woolen yarn. Half a dozen black 
feathers, their vanes trimmed to near the stalks 
and roughened up to give a hairy look, make 
the legs. A strip of India-rubber between the 
bullet and the long string attached gives the 
thing elasticity, so that, when he makes a slight 
jerking motion as it hangs from his fingers, its 
body seems to leap and its legs to quiver with a 
hideously life-like semblance. As a home-made 
tarantula, the thing is an artistic triumph. 

Cautiously he pokes it through a knot-hole 
directly above Rufus Goldie, lowers it to within 
a couple of feet of his head, and then, peering 


90 


OUR HETTY. 


down, lingers for a moment to revel in the joy 
of anticipation. The young man, unluckily for 
him, has assumed the attitude that to the bum- 
kin’s mind is expressive of graceful ease, balanc- 
ing himself on the back legs of his chair and 
slightly rocking it. Hetty’s quick eye catches 
the thing poised above his head, and, though in 
a moment she recognizes it as one of Danny’s 
favorite contrivances, a startled expression first 
flits over her face and an involuntary exclamation 
rises to her lips. Rufus, following up her line of 
sight, suddenly beholds the giant spider seem- 
ingly pouncing down upon his face, and, with an 
exclamation of alarm, throws himself backward 
to avoid it, losing his balance and coming down 
with a crash, his arms and legs sprawling wildly. 
The spider darts up to the knot-hole and van- 
ishes ; Hetty screams with uncontrollable laugh- 
ter ; Mrs. Mulveil thrusts her night-capped head 
in from her bed-room door to demand “ what the 
’nation has broke loose Rufus, awkwardly 
scrambling to his feet and with comic ruefulness 
rubbing his bruised back, gasps : “ Well ! Of 

all the gol-derned things !” and up in the loft a 
thoroughly happy boy hugs himself and rolls on 
the floor in an ecstasy of delight. 

Hetty, unable to stop her laughter, which has 
become almost hysterical, while looking at the 
discomfited young man, runs away to the kitchen. 
Mrs. Mulveil, who resents being waked up, per- 
sists in wanting to know : 


A GEiilAL IMP S CAMPAIGN. 


91 


“ What on earth is the matter ?” 

“ Nothing,” answers Rufus, sheepishly. 

“ Well, don’t let it happen again,” the widow 
warns him severel}^ and retreats to her room. 

Rufus retakes his chair, planted now firmly on 
its four feet, and waits in a most uncomfortable 
frame of mind, with one eye trained on the ceil- 
ing in anxious expectancy of the spider’s return, 
the other directed toward the kitchen door. 
Minutes pass and Hetty does not re-appear, but 
presently Mary Elder enters in her stead, and, 
struggling vainly to repress her mirth, says : 

“ Hetty asks will you not please excuse her. 
She has laughed so much that she has a head- 
ache and will have to go to bed at once.” 

“ Certainly,” replies Rufus, very stiffly, with a 
dignity that is irresistibly funny, rising and stalk- 
ing to the door, where he says a curt: ‘‘Good 
night,” and goes out, closing the door after him 
with a slam. 

On the way to the barn he thinks bitterly : 

“ She needn’t think she ’ll ever get me here 
again to make a fool of me. But I ’ll be even 
with her. I ’ll make her sorry, and him, too. 
He put her up to it before he went — curse him !” 

When he gets in among the icy robes in his 
sleigh and starts his “ skagged ” vehicle on a 
troublous journey home, his bitterness is intensi- 
fied. But up in the loft a merry girl winds her 
arms about a happy boy and kissing him, says : 

“ You are a good little imp, after all, Danny.” 



CHAPTER X. 

DANGER FOR JOHN. 

Early in the summer preceding the happenings 
here narrated, a good, douce, middle-aged Scot, 
on his way from Edinb’ro' to Ohio — where he 
expected to purchase land — stopped for a visit 
among the Camerons of Elder township, to 
whom he claimed some distant relationship. 
The beauty and fertility of the country, in the 
Raccoon Creek Valley particularly, and the 
presence here of numbers who at least knew 
his forbears,” and were presumably kin to him, 
brought about a change in his plans and instead 
of going on to “ the Western Reserve,” as he 
had intended, Roger McFarlane bought a half- 
section of good, though unimproved, farming 
land from the widow Cameron — John’s mother 
— and settled down. He was a bachelor, upon 
the verge of being classed as an “ old ” one, and 
arranged to live at the widow Cameron’s until 
such time as he could build a home for himself 


DANGER FOR JOHN. 


93 


on his own acres, an achievement that he feared 
would be far enough off to give him more than 
ample time to find a mistress for that home 
among the buxom lassies abounding in the 
neighborhood. 

Acquainted only with the hard individual 
struggle and sharp competitive strife of existence 
in the old world, Mr. McFarlane had no idea of 
the common helpfulness by which our early set- 
tlers brought their co-operative forces to bear 
for the accomplishment of their heaviest toils, 
such as would have been beyond the strength 
and means of individuals. Hence he arrived, by 
careful calculation, at the conclusion that it 
would take him about two 3'^ears of hard, unre- 
mitting toil to erect a suitable house and barn and 
to clear a couple of tillable fields. Of course, 
that time might be considerably shortened, if he 
could make up his mind to hire help, but he was 
loth to part with the “ siller ” in hand and bravely 
made up his mind to do himself all that was pos- 
sible for him, employing assistance only in the 
absolutely needful work of raising the heavy logs 
of which the buildings would be constructed, a 
job necessarily far in the future. 

John Cameron, seeing a chance for such a 
surprise-party as does not occur twice in a man’s 
lifetime, took care not to encourage Roger to 
any different hope, and readily won the cooper- 
ation of all who came to know and consequently 
to like the patient, industrious, kindly-faced Scot, 


94 


OUR HETTY. 


in keeping him from even a suspicion of what 
was in store for him. And all through the sum- 
mer and fall Roger worked steadily on, under 
John’s constant advice. Upon so much of his 
land as he proposed to clear, he cut down the 
trees, trimmed them, burned the brush and 
chopped the logs according to their adaptability 
for building, fencing or firewood. He even 
“ rough-squared” those intended for the house, 
John having advised him to do so in order that 
they might be better seasoned when he came to 
build. And he chose the site for his new home, 
which John approved. 

One cold and brilliantly clear December 
morning Roger McFarlane was inexpressibly 
astonished. He had just commenced felling a 
huge white-oak tree, when half a dozen neighbors 
gathered about him. Hardly had he exchanged 
greetings with them when several more joinecj 
the group, and before he could express his sur- 
prise more came trooping in from all directions, 
until he saw around him some forty stalwart 
men, provided with axes, cant-hooks, handspikes, 
horses, bob-sleds, log-chains and other tools and 
appliances for clearing and building. With 
them, of course, came a little army of boys and 
dogs. The men simply said : “ Good morning” 
to him and went to work. Some leveled the 
ground where the house and barn were to stand, 
others hauled the very corner-stones he had 
selected and the logs he had ready squared, and 


DANGER FOR JOHN. 


95 


commenced putting up the two structures with 
a celerity and expertness that fairly took his 
breath away. While this was going on, another 
detachment split into rails the logs selected for 
that purpose, and piled compactly those set apart 
for firing. The boys busied themselves firing 
brush-heaps and chasing with the dogs the rab- 
bits that ran out of them. The air was full of 
the shouts of men ; neighing and tramping of 
horses ; rattle of chains, sharp ringing of axe- 
strokes ; yelping of dogs and the dull reverber- 
ations made by heavy timbers dropping from 
the ends of “skids” upon the gradually rising 
walls, where the skillful “ notch-and-saddle” 
axemen were at work. Nobody took any direc- 
tions from Roger McFarlane or seemed to pay 
any attention to him, and he wandered around 
in a dazed way from group to group, saying, 
now and then : “ Ech ! Mon ! it ’s just wonder- 
ful ! I dinna understand it at all !” and occasion- 
ally biting the second knuckle of one of his fore- 
fingers, as if to reassure himself that it was not 
all a dream. Behind his back, his hearty 
neighbors winked slyly at each other and chuck- 
led jollily, fully appreciating his bewildered 
amazement, and resolved to keep him mystified 
as long as possible. 

By common consent, ever since houses were 
first raised in the valley, such gatherings were 
occasions of peace and at least apparent good- 
will, which not even the old grudge between 


96 


OtJR HETTY* 


the Camerons and the Mulveils was permitted 
to disturb. There was plenty of time for fight- 
ing that out, even when it was most active, 
without sacrificing to it the duty of reciprocal 
service and the commonalty of interest demand- 
ing consolidated unity of forces in dealing with 
the natural obstacles of their environment. And 
now, since the feud was generally dulled in 
sober memories, and but for the women and 
hot-headed young men would perhaps die out 
before long, it was easy to ignore it altogether 
without even a sense of constraint upon any 
one, especially at a “frolic’' upon neutral 
ground, as Roger McFarlane’s farm was justly 
considered. With hearty good-humor and 
thoroughly neighborly feeling then the work 
went merrily on, amid such orderly confusion 
as the Scot had never before participated in, 
until a distant horn sounded the dinner-hour. 
Then Roger received a new surprise. 

By evident prearrangement, men, boys and 
dogs set out together in an irregular procession 
for the widow Cameron’s, where ample provis- 
ion had been made for their hospitable enter- 
tainment. Two long tables were spread for 
them, with bountiful lading of stewed chickens, 
roast turkeys and geese, fried ham, roast mut- 
ton. hot biscuits, corn-bread, honey, apple-butter, 
quince preserves, doughnuts, pies and what not 
else of the lavish supply of good things familiar 
to Pennsylvanian rural feasts, then and now. 


DANGER FOR JOHN. 


97 


All were quickly in their places, and half a 
dozen bright-eyed girls busied themselves filling 
the cups with steaming hot coffee, which the 
diners sweetened to their taste with lumps of 
home-made maple-sugar. An old white-haired 
man rapped sharply with his knife upon the 
plate before him, and, in obedience to the signal, 
conversation was instantly hushed, the girls 
with the coffee-pots stopped motionless, and a 
moment of perfect silence ensued. Then the 
old man’s voice, low and thin, but penetrating 
in that sudden stillness, devoutly uttered the 
words : 

“ For Thy bounty, of which we are about 
to partake, oh. Lord, make us truly thankful. 
Amen.” 

Then appetite was given the reins, and all fell 
to, with a great clatter of table tools and buzz of 
talk. 

That moment’s pause and hush had given 
Roger McFarlane time to think. He saw now 
all the details of the generous and kindly con- 
spiracy, and it overwhelmed him with grateful 
emotion, as he realized how long a time these 
good people had been planning and contriving 
for this most complete issue of benefit to him. 
Surely, he thought, it would be the least he 
could do to make acknowledgment of their gen. 
erous kindness, and he stood up. But his heart 
was already in his throat with emotion ; the 
unwonted sight of four-score eyes staring in 


98 


OUR HETTY. 


Steady expectancy embarrassed him, and he 
could only stammer : 

“ Ma friends, the like o’ this is a’ verra new 
and strange to me, and ma heart is sae full that 
it ’s like to choke me. I had only thocht maself 
a lonely wanderin’ carle, but a little acquent in a 
strange land ; and I ’ve waukened to ken maself 
at hame, surroonded by brithers. I canna say 
mair, or ma heart wilf loup frae ma lips. I ’m 
joost — ” 

And at that point he really did “ breakdown,” 
his voice failing him and the tears welling up in 
his eyes, as he dropped back upon his seat. 
Very heartily they applauded him, with many 
reassuring expressions of kindly appreciation and 
personal esteem, in the midst of which. Uncle 
David Henderson’s deep, bass roar drowned all 
other voices, with the reply : 

“ Say no more about it, man, unless to show 
us you ’re an orator. Why, there ’s not a house 
or a barn in the township that was not raised in 
the same way. How else would men get along 
in a new country if they didn’t stand by one 
another ? You ’re not under a straw’s weight of 
obligation to us. We are only doing our duty, 
and proud and happy we are that it is for a 
friend and neighbor like Roger McFarlane.” 

A burst of hearty applause set the seal of 
popular approval upon his words, and a dozen 
of those nearest to Roger gave emphasis to that 
expression by warmly shaking his h«nd. When 


DANGER FOR JOHN. 


99 


John Cameron, among the rest, reached across 
the table to do so, the warm-hearted and grater 
ful Scot retaining his grasp said : 

“Ah! Jock. It was a’ your contrivin’. God 
grant ye a’ your days as light a heart as it is 
already good.” 

Away down the table Simeon Mulveil, speak- 
ing very low and taking care not to draw the 
attention of others to the subject of his conversa- 
tion, said to Rufus Goldie, who sat by his side: 

“ Is it a silver spoon you have in your cup ?” 

“ It is.” 

“ Look carefully, without attracting notice^ 
and tell me, if you can, what initials are on it.” 

“ Either ‘ R. W. B.,’ or ‘ R. B. W.,’ I can’t 
make out sure which, they are so curley-cued 
together.” 

“ The same as mine. I can’t think of anybody 
ever belonging to the Camerons, or in Raccoon 
Creek Valley, Vith them initials.” 

“ Well ; what of it ?” 

“ It looks queer. Where do you suppose they 
came from ?” 

“Thunder! How should I know? Borrowed 
them for the ‘ frolic,’ I suppose; folks generally 
do have to borrow to set a table for so many. 
Or bought them, for all 1 know.” 

“ No. Silver spoons, with initials on ’em, aint 
bought and sold. They belong to women-folks 
and are handed down in the family. They might 
have borrowed ’em, only I can’t think who from.” 


100 


OUR HETTY. 


“ Well, in the name of the everlastin’ trumpet, 
what odds does it make?'’ 

“A heap of odds; if I could only call up 
something I 've seen or heard, but that I 've dis- 
remembered now.” 

Simeon seemed to lose himself in reverie, 
striving to awaken some dormant spark in his 
memory, eating mechanically the while and 
keeping his eyes fixed in an unconscious stare 
upon a dish of pickles before him. When Rufus 
sought to recall him to himself and question him 
further, he merely growled : 

“ Lemme ’lone.” 

When dinner was over the men went back to 
work, whither they were soon followed by the 
boys, who had been fed at the second table. 
With such hearty good-will did they apply 
themselves to the friendly toil, that before the 
short day was nearly done a ten-acre field had 
been put in good shape for the spring corn-plant- 
ing, the rails split for fencing it in on two sides 
at least, and the barn and house were nearing 
the point where they could be left for one or two 
persons to finish by roofing, “ chunk-and-daub- 
ing,” and the erection of a chimney to the 
dwelling, when the weather grew warmer. 
They had even done something more than had 
been contemplated at the outset, by running up 
the walls of a substantial and commodious 
“ spring-house,” a convenience that Mr. McFar- 
lane had not thought of, and the sudden creation 


DANGER FOR JOHN. 


101 


of which was a new subject of amazement to 
him. 

About the middle of the afternoon the Rev. 
Mr. McLeod rode over, not to take a hand, but 
simply to see how they were getting along, and 
demonstrate his sympathetic interest in the pro- 
ceedingvS. Work had by that time slackened, 
and as he rode into the clearing a dozen voices 
hailed him with demands that he should come 
and explain something they were puzzled to 
account for. 

“ Why is it,” they asked, “ that if six men 
stand around a seventh lying on the flat of his 
back, and they all hold their breath, the six, 
with just the tips of their fore-fingers under him, 
can lift the seventh and flirt him as high as their 
heads, without his seeming to weigh more than 
a feather pillow would ?” 

The parson, with the craft of his profession, 
was not going to permit himself to be caught 
trying to explain something he did not know to 
be a fact, nor yet to be betrayed into easy con- 
fession that there was anything he did not know ; 
so he temporized : 

“ A certain king,” he said, “ once propounded, 
to a number of the wisest men in his realm, the 
question why it was that a live fish, weighing 
several pounds, would not increase by so much 
as an ounce the weight of a vessel of water in 
which it was placed. The wise men had many 
curious and ingenious theories to offer in explan- 


102 


OUR HETTY. 


ation of the alleged fact, and almost came to 
blows in the heat of their discussion. Finally, 
after they had wrangled over it for several 
hours, the king’s fool entered among them tri- 
umphantly proclaiming: ‘I know! I know all 
about it !’ ‘ Well,’ they demanded, ‘ what do you 

know ?’ ‘ That it isn’t true. 1 have just tried it 
with a live fish and a kettle of water.’ And the 
fool was right — it was one of the king’s jokes.” 

Oh, but this is true !” shouted several voices. 
“Here, Jim, lie down again! Get around, 
boys!” 

In a moment, one of the young men stretched 
himself out on his back, upon a log, holding his 
arms straight by his sides, and half a dozen 
others stationed themselves, three on each side, 
with merely the tips of six forefingers touching 
him. One of the bystanders exclaimed, “ Hold 
in;” and the seven held their breath, until they 
seemed to swell and grew red, when — just as it 
was evident they could not continue the restraint 
a second longer — he ordered “ Now !” And 
instantly the recumbent man seemed to float up 
in the air, not as a lifted weight, but rather as a 
cork, liberated deep down in water, darts up to 
the surface. Manifestly, the six had employed 
no exertion, such as would have been necessary 
to toss the sturdy young fellow up in that fash- 
ion under ordinary conditions. 

The minister was astonished, and felt that his 
confidence in the law of gravitation had been 


DANGER FOR JOHN. 


103 


Strangely betrayed. As for an explanation, he 
had none, and having none, he .very naturally, 
from his point of view, was disposed to stigma- 
tize the incomprehensible thing as “ the work of 
the devil,” a time-honored, clerical way of meet- 
ing all sorts of difficulties. A fortunate diversion, 
however, saved him from committing himself to 
even that orthodox refuge. The arrogant hound- 
pup, that had followed him upon the ground, 
overweeningly conscious of distinction as the 
minister’s dog, had been achieving a steadily 
increasing unpopularity among the other dogs 
by his supercilious manners, until eventually, a 
cur of low degree, taking grievous offense at his 
ostentatious scorn, suddenly mounted .him and 
took a sample piece from his neck. The pup’s 
hasty comments on the outrage were uttered in 
a tone so piercing, that all the other plebeian 
dogs seemed suddenly inspired by a frenzy to 
keep him up to concert pitch, and joined in a 
general with him as the central point of 

their ferocious activity. A bucket of water 
hurled upon them put a speedy end to the fight, 
but the fear of having his tattered pup still fur- 
ther damaged was excuse enough for the minister 
to hasten away without spending any time in 
theorizing upon strange phenomena in natural 
philosophy. As he rode off, he called back : 

“ If 1 get time, 1 will send a communication 
about it to the Washington Intelligencer'* 

Sim Mulveil wheeled quickly to Goldie, who 


104 


OUK HETTY. 


was his constant companion, and slapping him on 
the shoulder, exclaimed in a tone of triumph: 

“ I 've got it, b’ gosh !” 

“Got what?” 

“ What 1 was trying to think of. The name of 
that paper brung it back to me. It was in the 
Intelligencer 1 saw it, a good two months ago.” 

“ Well, what was it, anyway ?” 

“ Never you mind just now. 1 ’ve got to go 
over to Washington and see the papers that far 
back, before I say for certain. But you ’ll see 
the pride of that conceited John Cameron taken 
down a good many pegs before long, and with 
them spoons, too.” 

“What! You don’t mean it ?” 

“Yes, I do. But you keep your jaw shut 
about it. I ’ll do nothing until I get good and 
ready, for when I strike, it will be for keeps. If 
I don’t take him, I ’ll quit bein’ constable.” 

“ Why, Sim ! You don’t mean to say them 
spoons are — ” 

“ Yes, I do. Stolen, b’ gosh !” 

“Lord! I hope you’ll prove it on him — 
whether it ’s so or not. I ’ll help you all I can.” 

“ Well, you may be able to swear to something 
when the time comes. One way or another, I ’ve 
got to land him in jail or kill him.” 


CHAPTER XL 


THE CONSPIRACY. 

During the night succeeding Roger McFar- 
lane’s frolic, there was a heavy fall of snow. 
That which first came down was moist and 
clinging, but as the hours of darkness went by, 
the still air grew colder and colder, and the 
niveous crystals, dry, light and fleecy, piled high 
upon even the smallest twigs in the forest and 
bridged over the spaces between them, so that 
the boughs bent with the weight of a simulated 
foliage of immaculate, whiteness. 

Like “ a new heaven and a new earth,” fresh 
and pure from the fashioning of their Creator, 
hushed yet in the awe of first consciousness of 
being, shone the cloudless sky and no less spot- 
less world beneath, upon which beamed the 
golden rays of the morning sun. But all the 
refulgent white glory that flooded the universe 
was cold and still as death itself. 

Slowly and with an air of protest, animated 
Nature awoke to recognition of the temporary 

[105] 



106 


OUR HETTY. 


domination ol the inanimate. The peewits, 
nesting under the eaves of the barn, were first 
to see what had happened, and discontentedly 
twittering to each other, agreed it was quite 
hopeless to look for a breakfast under all that 
snow, and they had best stay in their warm 
shelter until the prospect improved. A gallant 
game-cock, champion of the barnyard, forebore 
his customary matutinal challenge to the uni- 
verse, and floundering awkwardly through the 
deep snow to the refuge of an overhanging 
straw-pile, looked about him with disgust and 
regret that he had left his comfortable roost. 

The sun was well up before a faint spiral of 
smoke lazily floated straight toward the zenith 
from the kitchen chimney of the house, for the 
morning was Sunday, when late rising is per- 
missible even on a farm. A couple of dogs, 
sniffing the odor of breakfast in the air, crawled 
out from under the porch and stretched them- 
selves in time to meet John Cameron and give 
him their honest canine greeting as he emerged 
from the kitchen door with an axe in his hand. 

“ The deepest snow yet this winter, mother,” 
he announced, in a cherry voice, looking back 
into the house before closing the door behind 
him. 

The fences were half-buried ; the round, com- 
pactly grown apple-trees in the orchard looked 
like enormous snow-balls; the well-sweep, swol- 
len to colossal proportions b}^ the accumulation 


THE CONSPIRACY. 


107 


of snow upon it, suggested a fanciful resem- 
blance to the Leaning Tower of Pisa. 

John’s first duty was the breaking of the ice 
in the watering-trough for the cattle. In quick 
response to the sound of his chopping the 
chorus of farm life broke forth — horses neighing 
in their stalls, bells tinkling among the sheep in 
their shelter under the barn-floor and the cows 
in their stable, pigs squealing shrill demands 
for immediate feed, chickens fluttering down 
from the hen-house and squawking in foolish 
alarm at finding themselves ingulfed in the 
snow. 

Three hours later, John, mounted on his big 
black horse, and dressed in his best, rode down 
the lane on his way to church. All the church- 
going in the valley that day had to be upon horse- 
back, the unbroken snow in the roads being 
much too deep to admit of speedy or comfortable 
sleighing. But that was no hardship in a com- 
munity of equestrians, and would make little 
difference in the attendance at the meeting- 
house, to which everybody, practically, made a 
habit of going pretty regularly, whether Presby. 
terians or not. In the valley one was either a 
Presbyterian, in sympathy at least, or nothing, as 
no other sects had yet gained a foothold there, 
and it was not fashionable to have oneself looked 
upon as “ nothing ” from a religious point of 
view. 

The black horse found himself much surprised 


108 


OUR HETTY. 


and annoyed by the constraint his rider put upon 
his pace. He was not accustomed to being 
required or even permitted to go at a walk with 
John on his back, yet here they were a good two 
miles from church and a light rein still kept on 
him. Horses think and know more, however, 
than people are prone to give them credit for, 
and it is not impossible that he may have fully 
understood the situation when he discovered- 
that he had been made to arrive at a certain 
cross-road just as a very charming bay mare — 
carrying a young woman, whose attractions were 
doubtless more apparent to his master than to 
himself — emerged from that cross-road. 

“ Good morning, MiSs Mulveil !” said John, 
speaking with deferential diffidence, for the 
young man must be much more hardened in the 
ways of gallantry than he was, who can, without 
some bashfulness, attempt love-making in the 
open air, in broad daylight, on the highway. 

“ Good morning, Mr. Cameron,” she responded 
demurely. 

“ Going to meeting, I suppose ?” 

“ Family has to be represented, and none of 
the others will venture out.” 

“ Why ? I’m sure it ’s a lovely day for anybody 
to be abroad, who is not sick folks.” 

“ Well, mother thinks she may have rheuma- 
tism, from the change of weather; the snow 
hurts Miss Elder’s eyes ; and, as for Danny, he 
just wouldn’t come..” 


THE CONSPIRACY. 


109 


“ If Danny prefers one place more than 
another, it is most probably because of some 
better prospect for deviltry that his genius for 
mischief has discovered.” 

“ You mustn’t be too hard on Danny,” laughed 
Hetty. “ You don’t know how good a boy he 
was last Sunday night.” 

“ He a good boy ! How so?” 

She told him the story of Rufus’s discomfiture, 
narrating it so graphically that it seemed to John 
he could see his rival sprawling on the floor. 

Danny ts a good boy,” he affirmed emphatic- 
ally, “ and nobody shall ever again hear me say 
otherwise. I mean to buy a gun for him the 
next time I go to town.” 

“ You have made an ally of him already. I 
never knew him to take up so for anybody else 
as he does for you. I’m afraid such a magnifi- 
cent present as a gun would spoil him al- 
together.” 

“ Nothing is too good for a boy who has his 
genius for running off trespassers.” 

“ Trespassers !” 

“ Yes. Anybody else than me, who comes to 
see you, is a trespasser.” 

She looked up at him with an arch smile, 
blushed and dropped her eyes, without reply in 
words, but words were not necessary for him to 
understand her. 

Don’t you think it natural for a man to feel 
that way about the girl he loves?” 


110 


OUR HETTY. 


“ What do I know about how a man feel§ when 
he is ill love ?” 

“ Well, you’ll learn before lon^ from my tell- 
*ing you.” 

“ Oh ! Then you are in love ?” 

“You know 1 am — and with you, Hetty.” 

“ Why, how should I know that? You never 
mentioned it to me before.” 

“ Do you mean to say that you have not 
known it ever since the day we met up on the 
‘ Backbone ?’ ” 

“ Well, perhaps I might have suspicioned 
something, if I had known as much as most girls 
do about such things.” 

“ It hasn’t been so very long since 1 found it 
out myself. And that seems a mighty queer 
thing, too, that I should have seen you grow up 
right under my nose, all these years, and never 
have taken any notice that you were the loveli- 
est and most lovable girl in the world and the 
only one 1 could ever care for, until I found it 
out by shooting you. I tell you it was a mighty 
big surprise when it came to me solid, Hetty. 
And it has made the whole world different to 
me. I never knew before how happy a person 
could feel. Why, I ’m seeing all there is in the 
world worth caring for, to me, when I look into 
your eyes, darling.” 

The girl’s eyes sparkled with happiness, but 
her cheeks were red as flame, and she glanced 
anxiously up and down the road. 


THE conspiracy. 


Ill 


“ I didn’t see you at spelling-school, Thursday 
night,” she said hastily, as if interposing a new 
topic to block John’s too rapid public progress. 

“ No. I had to go over to Noblestown, about 
a span of horses and didn’t get back in time.” ' 

“ You didn’t object to going away and leaving 
Rufus Goldie with me?” 

“ No. WTien you told me to do so, I saw 1 
was perfectly safe.” 

“ You talk as if you were sure of me already.” 

Of course I am. How could I be otherwise? 
I love you, and you know it. And you love me, 
and I know it.” 

“ Laws ! John Cameron, you don’t know any 
such thing.” 

“ Every kiss you gave* me last Sunday night 
was an affidavit to it. 1 ’ve got too good an 
opinion of you, Hetty, to think your kisses could 
go where your heart didn’t. Yes, it ’s just solid 
love between us, and why should we waste time 
pretending anything else, making believe what 
we know in our hearts isn’t true and what we 
wouldn’t, either of us, have the other think so 
for all the world ?” 

“John, ain’t you a little afraid, sometimes, that 
you are a very sudden young man ?” 

“ Mavbe I am, but life is short. 1 ’d rather be 
sudden about getting what I want than sorry for 
losing it through slowness. Which do you your- 
self think is best, Hetty ?” 

“ Well — it isn’t good to be too slow, John.” 


112 


OUK HETTY. 


Spoken like a sensible girl, my darling. And 
now, when shall we get married?” 

“ Oh ! It 's too soon to talk about that.” 

“ Not a bit. We mean to get married, don’t 
we? ’ 

1 — I don’t know. Oh, John, what do you 
want to talk that way for. on the road to meet- 
ing, and in broad daylight! You ought to be 
ashamed.” 

“ I ’d be ashamed of myself if I didn’t take any 
opportunity that offered.” 

“ How much practice you must have had talk- 
ing to girls, to be so bold about it.” 

“ Practice ? No. I ’ll take my oath that I 
never before, in all my life, said to any girl or 
woman, except my mcfther, the words : ‘ 1 love 
you.’ And when I say them to you, Hetty, they 
are as true and come as straight from my heart 
as they ever did when 1 spoke them to her. 1 
simply don’t see why a man should be shame- 
faced, or beat about the bush, in baring his heart 
to the girl he loves well enough to make his 
wife; and that brings me back to the question I 
asked you before — we mean to get married, 
don’t we ?” 

“John, you’re riding up closer and closer 
alongside of me, until you are scrouging my 
mare off the road, and I just know, if 1 ’d say: 
‘ Yes,’ you ’d grab me round the waist and kiss 
me, and people would be sure to see us, and I ’m 
not going to get myself talked about. If you 


THK XKIUMPU OF A GENIAL IMF —HeC Chapter JX. 







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THE CONSPIRACY. 


113 


want my answer, you can come over to-night 
and get it.” 

Why, you darling, that ’s good enough 
answer for the present ! Oh, how I do love you, 
Hetty ! Come back into the road ; you needn’t 
be afraid of my cutting up right out here before 
folks. 1 won’t say but what I want to. The 
man wouldn’t be human who could love a 
girl as I love you, and see her bright eyes and 
pouting lips so close to him, without wanting 
to — There! Hold on! Don’t start off that 
wj!y ! I won’t do anything. Thunder ! We ’re 
almost there, and at that gait we wouldn’t have 
five minutes more to talk.” 

“ Come along. We can do our talking to- 
night, without setting other folks talking to-day. 
There ’s a whole lot of people coming down the 
ridge-road, and on the rise of the hill behind us 
are two men, and I do believe one of them is 
Rufus Goldie.” 

Hetty’s keen sight had correctly identified the 
distant horseman as Rufus Goldie, and if she had 
taken a second look, she would have known 
equally well his companion, who was none other 
than Simeon Mulveil. Rufus lived at the con- 
stable’s house most of the time, instead of stay- 
ing where he' properly belonged, among his 
nearer relatives, over in Fayette County, near 
Uniontown. The two men not only harmonized 
well in character, but had business relations 
which brought them into close association. 


114 


OTJR HETfY. 


Mulveil, who was a widower, owned a good farm 
and a saw-mill — the latter an inheritance from 
his wife, to whom it had been left by a former 
husband. Rufus ran the mill, on shares, and also 
did some work on the farm when the head of 
water was too slack for sawing, or lumber not in 
demand. Hence, he and Simeon, thrown much 
together in their hours of labor, had got into the 
habit of each other’s society, generally went 
abroad in company and were as nearly friends 
as it was possible for such natures to feel friend- 
ship. There was secretly between them at this 
time, however, a good deal of jealousy, for each 
knew that the other was a rival suitor for Hetty 
Mulveil’s hand. That feeling would probably 
have separated them, had they not been linked 
by the bond of common hate for John Cameron, 
whom they instinctively recognized as the one 
destined to carry away the prize from both of 
them. 

Following and spying on this ride to church, 
they saw, and gnashed their teeth at seeing, how 
closely the black horse and the bay mare moved 
along together and how slowly they went. 

“ 1 ’d like to put a bullet through him,” 
growled Rufus Goldie. 

“ So would I ; but I wouldn’t like to be hanged 
for it,” snarled the constable. 

** You ’re always afraid of the law.” 

“ The law ’s something to be afraid of.” 

No; not the law, but getting caught.” 


THE CONSPIRACY. 


115 


The law has a tarnation long reach.” 

“ It don’t go as far as a gun though — between 
man and man.” 

“ It ’ll go far enough in John Cameron’s case 
to suit me.” 

“ Do you feel like speaking any plainer to-day 
than you did yesterday about that.” 

“ I don’t mind telling you, but you must keep 
it mighty close, for if he got word of it before I 
am ready to jump on him, he might not be there 
when I landed.” 

“ I ’m not likely to do anything that would be 
much good to him.” 

“Well, it’s just this. 1 saw in the paper, 
about two months back, that there was a robbery 
of silver spoons from a house over by Canons- 
burg somewhere. I read all such things because 
it ’s my official duty, but my memory isn’t good 
and I can’t recollect names well. That’s noth- 
ing, though. I can go over to Washington 
to-morrow or next day and see the paper. And 
I ’m just as sure as that I ’m alive the spoons we 
saw yesterday are the stolen ones. I feel it in 
my bones so I could swear to it.” 

“ But how are you going to prove he stole 
them ?” 

“ I don’t have to. If I find them in his posses- 
sion, it ’ll be for him to prove he didn’t steal them. 
Even if he gets off he will have been put in jail 
anyway, and that ’s enough. Hetty Mulveil isn’t 
likely to marry any jail-bird.” 


116 


OUR HETTY. 


Rufus winced, though he said nothing. For 
reasons best known to himself references to jail- 
birds grated on all there was of sensitiveness in 
his being. 

“ Yes,” pursued the constable, “ If 1 find it’s 
all right when I see the paper, as I ’m sure I 
shall — I 've got them initials marked down, ‘ R. 
W. B. ' or ‘ R. B. W.,’ and one or the other is 
bound to be right — I ’ll get the warrant for him 
at once. But I won’t serve it until Thursday, 
“Training Day,” when half the county will see 
him taken as a thief.” 

Rufus started with the impulse of a sudden 
thought, looked fixedly in his companion’s eyes 
for a moment, and said in a low tone of sugges- 
tion rather than of inquiry : 

“ And if he resists arrest ?” 

The constable clenched his jaws with a snap : 

“ Then something bad may happen to him — 
in a perfectly legal way.” 

The two scoundrels grinned at each other in 
sympathy, shook hands and rode on at a livelier 
pace after the couple, who had by this time 
disappeared under the grove surrounding the 
house of prayer. 



CHAPTER Xir. 

“ CAMERONS TO THE RESCUE !” 

“Training Day ” was one of the great occa- 
sions of the year. Men who had “ fit the 
British ” were not scarce ; the Mexican War yet 
too recent for its heroes to be much spoken of as 
“veterans,” except for oratorical effect; and a 
vaguely pleasing impression pervaded the coun- 
try that the American citizen should stand, 
metaphorically, with a chip on his shoulder, 
inviting some effete monarchy to “ knock it off 
and get licked.” Martial spirit and patriotic 
pride stimulated a general interest in keeping 
alive military organizations. Of course, the 
best “ volunteer ” forces must see much service 
before they attain the steadiness and discipline 
of “ regulars,” and our best military establish- 
ment attainable then was very far below such 
perfection as the severely effective school of 
civil war has since taught us in the adaptation 
of our militia forces for ready mobilization as a 
“ National Guard.” But our militia was larger 

[117] 


118 


OUR HETTY. 


then, in proportion to the population, than it is 
now, and perhaps was infused with more spon- 
taneity of patriotic enthusiasm than has been 
observable in later days, particularly since its 
main employment has been in the overawing 
and crushing of labor demonstrations. Then, 
every man capable of bearing arms was, not 
merely nominally and theoretically, but practi- 
cally a member of it, supposably ready and 
eager to rush forth, at any moment, armed with 
his own gun, supplied with his own ammunition, 
clad according to his own means and fancy, and 
at least measurably provided with his own 
rations, to exterminate foreign foes, wholesale 
or in job' lots, as they might see fit to present 
themselves. To be an American and to have a 
gun were the only real essentials, in popular 
estimation. The man who could not be depend- 
ed upon to do good fighting “on his own hook,”- 
independent of how anybody else might be get- 
ting on in the melee of a battlefield, would not 
have been considered of much account. 

Few were prepared to affirm that there was 
not a desirable quality of style about company 
and even regimental evolutions in time of war,, 
but a popular feeling existed that rehearsal of 
such things during profound peace was little 
better than threshing chaff and winnowing the' 
east wind. Should they ever be necessary, 
Americans could pick them up in a few days. 
Hence, “Training Day,” though everywhere 


CAMERONS TO THE RESCUE !” 119 

observed as an occasion for enthusiastic demon- 
stration of patriotic and martial spirit, involving; 
not a little noisy jubilation and license, was seri- 
ously lacking in the educational character con- 
templated by the law. 

Very early in the forenoon the population of 
the whole country-side seemed to be flocking en 
masse into the little town of Washington, the 
county-seat, and its streets were soon thronged 
with equestrians and sleighs of all sorts and sizes, 
from the dainty cutter ” to the ponderous farm- 
wagon body temporarily mounted upon bob-sled 
runners. Not onl}^ the defenders of the Republic 
came to town on “ Training Day,” but their 
mothers, wives, sisters and sweethearts as well ; 
for there was both a gallant show to see and 
shopping, long deferred for this occasion, to be 
done. Women packed each of the general 
stores, where dry goods, ploughs, crockery, 
school-books, molasses, timothy-seed and a thou- , 
sand other things were sold and all farm-produce 
bought ; men crowded the particular stores that 
dealt exclusively in wet goods, for in those days 
the Prohibition movement had not yet even 
chipped its shell, and nobody thought harm of 
taking “ a drop to keep the cold out,” or, may- 
hap, “ another for sociability’s sake.” 

The inn-yards were filled with family-sleighs, 
and around three sides of the court-house saddle- 
horses were tied to the hitching-rails as closely 
as they would stand without fighting. The keen, 


120 


OUR HETTY. 


Still air was full of the creaking of sleigh-runners 
on the snow, the jingling of silvery-sounding 
bells, neighing of horses and shouts of salutation 
between acquaintances. 

Presently the shrill sounds of a fife and the 
clatter of a drum awoke the echoes with a new 
sort of disturbance, and the musicians, followed 
by all the boys in town, marched the length of 
the main street and back again, to the “ com- 
mon,” or great open square near the court-house, 
where the drilling was to take place. There, by 
the flag-pole, in all his awful dignity of cocked 
hat, crimson sash, and sword, fat Captain Ram- 
sey stood, lists in hand, awaiting his citizen 
soldiery. From all directions they came flock- 
ing, in hot haste ; and a motley-looking mob 
they were, so far as clothing went, no two seem- 
ing to be dressed alike. Tall and stalw t men 
they were, with lithe, vigorous frame, clear, 
• daring eyes and firm tread ; men who looked as 
if fatigue and fear would be alike strange tt them. 
Here and there an old man, really exempt by age 
from military duty, yet scornful of such release, 
bore a shot-gun ; but, with those few exceptions, 
the arms in the hands of all were the long, 
heavy, muzzle-loading squirrel rifle, a small- 
bored weapon, but one that would carry far and 
with splendid precision. Almost every man of 
Captain Ramsey’s one hundred and seventeen 
would have been able, with his own gun, to hit 
a button on a soldier’s breast as far as he could 


121 


“ CAMERONS TO THE RESCUE 

see it clearly, particularly if that button should 
happen to be on a red coat. 

All around the Common ” the big family 
sleighs were drawn up, and in them, comfortably 
wrapped in their robes and furs, the ladies sat, 
looking on and thrilled by that inexplicable 
fascination which military evolutions always 
seem to have for women. With them, to hold 
the horses when the martial music made them 
shiver and dance, sat the old men, whose weight 
of years forbade their active service on the 
training-ground, and who, involuntarily resent- 
ing that fact, were unsparing in sarcastic criti- 
cisms upon their envied juniors in the ranks. It 
gave them relief to say things like these : 

“ Turn your toes out, Sam ! You walk like a 
pigeon !*’ 

“ W ^1 some lady please admire Mr. McPher- 
son ?’ 

“Step out there, Dave? You stutter with 
both '^et !” 

To such bantering salutations the men ad- 
dressed made lively responses in kind, and Cap- 
tain Ramsey in vain made himself red shouting : 

“ Silence in the ranks !” 

But there were, also, pleasanter interchanges 
of regard than those— salutes and replies inaudi- 
ble to the ears, but full of music to the heart. 
The young' militiaman was rare, who ‘did not 
know, or at least believe, that some fair specta- 
tor’s brightest smile of admiration had a directly 


122 


OUR HETTY. 


personal significance to him. John Cameron, 
for instance, felt his pulses thrill and his heart 
beat high at sight of Hetty MulveiTs sparkling 
eyes, full of love and pride, following him con- 
stantly ; while she, seeing that he knew of and 
rejoiced in her presence and regard, flushed 
with happiness and bent upon him — as next he 
advanced toward her — a smile eloquent with 
tender affection. 

Notwithstanding the profound convictions in 
the mind of every citizen-soldier present, that it 
did not really make the slightest difference 
whether a gun was carried on the right or the 
left shoulder, so long as it was kept handy for 
use; that it was “ derned nonsense” to batter 
the butt of a rifle on the hard frozen ground for 
an “ order arms and that marching and counter- 
marching, wheeling and alignment, were all mat- 
ters of mere show and not at all essential to good 
fighting — they really went through the drill in a 
ver}^ creditable fashion; and Captain Ramsey 
had good reason for telling them, as he did be- 
fore “ breaking ranks,” that he was proud of 
them. 

“ Well,” remonstrated some of the men; “if 
we can do it so good already, what ’s the use of 
keeping us freezing our toes just to do it some 
more ?” 

“ You wouldn’t durst to talk back that way to 
General Scott, if he was drilling you,” retorted 
the captain, who lost no opportunity for reviving 


CAMERONS TO THE RESCUE !’’ 123 

the recollection that he had served in real war 
under that hero's command. 

** Maybe so, but you ain’t no General Scott,’’ 
argued the men with cold feet. 

He good-naturedly admitted the point well 
taken; and after announcing the usual “dress- 
parade " at three o’clock in the afternoon gave 
the order to “ break ranks.” 

The American Eagle tavern — the principal 
house of entertainment in town — had more pat- 
rons at dinner that day than it could accommo- 
date at one time, so, in compliance with estab- 
lished custom on such occasions, the first table 
was reserved for ladies, and, while they were 
dining, the men sought comfort elsewhere in 
places where it could be had in a fluid and 
promptly assimilable form. One of those places, 
despite the cold, was on an open lot, a little way 
above the tavern, wdiere a thrifty citizen had 
built an attractive log-fire, and near it tapped a 
barrel of “ heart-of-cider,” of his own making. 

“ Now, this,” exclaimed Uncle David Hender- 
son, as he strolled up, spread himself before the 
blaze and stretched out his hand for a glass of 
the potent but seductive beverage, “ is the sort 
of thing 1 admire. A good fire to warm the 
toes, a clean liquor of Nature’s brewing to warm 
the heart, and all right out in the pure, open air. 
1 poked my nose into McCloskey’s, as 1 came 
along, looking for a friend, and I declare the 


124 


OUR HETTY. 


heat and the smoke and the vile smell of the 
liquor e’en a’most made me sick.” 

“ It ’s a wonder to me,” remarked a neighbor, 
touching glasses with Uncle David, that young 
men find any pleasure in such nasty places. 
I ’ll be bound you weren’t poisoned by the like 
when you were young, or you never would have 
grown to be the man you are.” 

Uncle David admitted that might be true, 
though, so far as he was aware, he had simply 
grown up big and strong because it was his 
nature to do so. 

“ Did you ever meet a man as strong as you 
are ?” 

“ No ; that he didn’t, I ’ll be bound !” answered 
another for him, and a murmured chorus rum- 
bled around the circle about the fire: 

“ ’Taint likely !” 

“ Guess not I” 

“ Ain’t but one Uncle Dave !” 

“Uncle David” Henderson was one of the 
most famous of the early settlers of Western 
Pennsylvania, and all through that part of the 
country surprising legends are still current re- 
lating to his giant strength. He was an extra- 
ordinarily large man, his stature slightly exceed- 
ing six feet and four inches, but so admirable 
were his proportions that, unless chance favored 
comparisons with others, a stranger would not 
be likely to appreciate readily how enormous he 
was. He had a kindly face, blue eyes and very 


CAMERONS TO THE RESCUE !” 


125 


soft, brown hair, well inclined to curl, that at 
this time wa,s brightened, here and there, by 
threads of silver, and his round-cropped, close- 
curling beard was almost white. No better- 
tempered man lived, yet few had more frequent 
fights — if so might be termed the brief muscular 
exercises with which he saddened those who 
assailed him. No ill-feeling characterized the 
attacks upon him. Other big and strong men 
simply wanted to have it determined whether he 
was their physical superior or not. He never 
had to settle that question twice for the same 
man ; but in a community that almost worshiped 
bodily prowess — a condition inseparable from 
frontier life, and one which persists long after 
the direct causes have passed away — its repeti- 
tions became monotonous. 

On one occasion, while he was building the 
Venice court-house, as he sat dozing in the 
public-room of the little hotel where he boarded, 
after a long day of very hard work, a burly West 
Virginian presented himself and persisted in 
waking him up. Bystanders shook their heads 
and said it was ill-advised; Uncle Dave had 
been handling and hauling stone all day, was 
tired and mightn’t like it. But the stranger was 
troubled with the same old question. 

Git up 'n’ fight!” he shouted, shaking the 
drowsy giant. I ’ve heard of you ’way down 
in the Panhandle, ’n’ ’ve come up to give you a 
tussle ’n see who ’s best man.” 


126 


OUR HETTY. 


“Just say you are and let me alone. I ’m no 
fighter, and 1 ’m tired and sleepy. G’ ’way !” 
protested Uncle David. 

“ Whoopee !” yelled the Panhandler, jumping 
up and cracking his heels together. “ I ’m a 
wolf! I ’m a catamount! I ’m a bull ! Come ’n’ 
feel of my teeth ! Come ’n’ ride on my horns! 
Nobody can lick me! Whoopee!” And he 
dealt Uncle David a sounding smack on one of 
his placid cheeks. 

Just how it happened he never afterward 
could tell, but the rash man’s first sensation 
was of being poised in the air, up near the ceil- 
ing ; the next, of flying through space, as if he. 
had been shot from a catapult; then of a fearful 
crash and darkness and the fading away of all 
things. When consciousness returned, he stiffly 
struggled to his feet, hobbled to the door, and 
only pausing long enough to remark : “ Gen’l’- 
men, a dern fool is gwine back to thie Pan- 
handle of West Virginny,” passed out into the 
night and was gone. Uncle David had hurled 
him, as a strong boy might a ball, against a wall 
full twenty feet away. Then he sat down and 
dozed again. 

On the present occasion, the already reported 
conversation among the group of friends and 
neighbors about the “ heart-of-cider ” barrel 
naturally led to drawing Uncle David out, to 
show something of what he could do, and, upon 
the pretext of a trifling wager, he was led to 


CAMERONS TO THE RESCUE ! ’ 


127 


perform a feat that is still talked of in Wash- 
ington County and has been unsuccessfully 
attempted since by thousands o-f other strong- 
men. 

Not more than a quarter of liquor, the owner 
said, had been drawn out of the barrel, so that 
the weight of the heavy package and its contents 
could hardly have been less than three hundred 
pounds. Grasping the chimb, or beveled ridge 
made by the ends of the staves, which afforded 
only a treacherous hold for the ends of his fingers, 
he, without any apparent difficulty, lifted the 
barrel out of the sleigh, in which it had been 
standing, and set it down before him in the 
snow, to have its bung removed. When that 
had been done, he grasped it again, as before, 
lifted it easily and gracefully to the height of his 
lips, said, in a leisurely, unconstrained way : 

Here ’s to you, boys !” and, placing the bung- 
hole to his mouth, took a deliberate drink there- 
from, after which he set it lightly back upon its 
former place in the sleigh. 

After a brief pause of stupefied astonishment, 
the witnesses of the astounding feat simultane- 
ously united in a shout of applause. 

Just about the same moment a very different 
sort of shout was raised, at the other end of the 
town, in the offensive “ McCloskey’s ” mentioned 
by Uncle David. 

Simeon Mulveil had adhered to his malevolent 
plan for bringing disgrace upon John Cameron. 


128 


OUR HETTY. 


The county paper fully realized his expectations. 
Silver spoons, bearing the initials of Mrs. R. W. 
Billings, had been stolen, nine or ten weeks 
before, from that lady’s house, on the Canons- 
burg turnpike ; and silver spoons marked “ R. 
W. B.” were on John’s table, practically in his 
possession, the day of the frolic. That was 
enough to justify a warrant. The constable 
knew very well that nothing could be more 
wildly improbable than that John Cameron 
should be a thief ; but he said to himself, 
doggedly : 

“ If he ’s innocent, let him prove it.” 

With the warrant in his pocket, he gloated 
over the anticipated triumph of his hate and 
waited for “ Training Day.” 

But it was hardly so easy as he had expected 
it would be, on that occasion, to find a safe 
opportunity for making the arrest. John’s fond- 
ness for ill-smelling saloons seemed to be no 
greater than his uncle’s, and, either to enjoy the 
pure air or to catch occasional glimpses of 
Hetty, he kept upon the street, generally sur- 
rounded by a band of sturdy Cameronian friends. 
Eventually, however, a little after dinner, he 
yielded to the persuasions of an acquaintance, 
who wanted him to “ go and have one drink,” 
and together they sauntered into the bar-room 
nearest at hand. It happened to be McCloskey’s. 
Had one thought of the old feud recurred to 
John’s mind, he would probably have shunned 


CAMERONS TO THE RESCUE 129 

the place, not for fear’s sake, but from dislike, 
for it had always been, as it was now, the chief 
haunt of the Mulveil faction. But to him the 
feud had become a thing of the remote past, 
never recalled except when somebody reminded 
him of it. Seen in the magic light of his love 
for Hetty, Mulveils looked to him like brothers, 
and, so far as he was concerned, the hatchet had 
been buried. But McCloskey’s was a bad place 
to nurture that kindly spirit in a Cameron. The 
unimproved Mulveils were still there, in strong 
force. Indeed, of all the* boisterous, semi- 
inebriated crowd thronging the groggery, but 
one other man was a Cameron, and his presence 
was about as accidental as John’s. 

Just as John raised from the bar a glass of 
cider that he had ordered, Constable Mulveil 
clutched his shoulder and shouted, in a tone to 
attract general attention : 

I arrest you, in the name of the law !” 

The score of voices that an instant before had 
been declaiming, wrangling, laughing and shout- 
ing were suddenly hushed to perfect silence. 

'‘Arrest me! What for?” demanded the young 
man, more amazed than anybody else. 

“ For bein’ a d d thief !” shouted Rufus 

Goldie, secretly anxious to precipitate a conflict, 
in which a deadl}^ injury might be covertly 
inflicted, under a plea of legal justification, upon 
his successful rival. 

Hardly had the words left his lips, when quick 


130 


OUR HETTY. 


as lightning, John dashed the glass and cider 
into his face, temporarily blinding him, and, at 
the same time, with his left hand, floored Simeon, 
who went down yelling : 

“Mulveils! Help, Miilveils !” 

His voice awoke a very pandemonium. The 
old faction spirit flamed up, like tow touched by 
fire. Yells, curses, threats, the sounds of blows, 
the smashing of bottles and the grinding of glass 
under trampling feet, made an infernal uproar. 
John, stoutly backed by the friend who entered 
with him and the sotitary Cameron already there, 
fought nobly, but the odds against the trio were 
overwhelming. A score of savage Mulveils, all 
who could get near enough to do so, attacked 
them at once ; while as many more, close behind, 
yelled threats and execratibns, hurled missiles at 
their purposed victims, and were ready to spring 
into the front row of attack as those before them 
were felled. Using a heavy stool as a weapon 
John piled Mulveil about him in heaps, but brave, 
strong and desperate as he was, could not main- 
tain more than a few moments longer such a fear- 
fully unequal combat. His friend, who was near- 
est the door, fought his way out, and, covered 
with blood, ran staggeringly up the street shout- 
ing the old battle cry : 

“ Camerons ! Camerons to the rescue !” 

When he reached Uncle Davfd he cried to 
him : 


‘‘ CAMERONS TO THE RESCUE !’’ 


131 


“ They are killing John Cameron in McClos- 
key's!” 

Quick and terrible in his sudden wrath the 
giant sprang to his feet and without a word 
started at a rapid walk for the scene of conflict. 
His heavy rifle was gripped in his left hand and 
his friends, fearing he would do a score of mur- 
ders if he went into a fight with that weapon — 
even though he used it only as a club — laid hold 
of it and of him, crying: 

“Leave the gun. Uncle David! Leave the 
gun !” 

A dozen of them together so tried to hold him, 
but setting his jaws together tightly, and with 
his eyes blazing he strode on, not seeming even 
to observe what they were doing. And the 
terror of his coming flew ahead of him, so that 
fleeing Mulveil’s shrieked into McClOwSkey’s, as 
they darted by : 

“Run! Save yourselves! Uncle Dave is 
coming !“ 

Camerons, flocking from all directions at the 
war-cry, asked no questions and made no parley, 
but fell straightway upon every Mulveil in 
sight. Speedily the fighting was general over 
one-half the town, and the roar of combat was 
like that upon a hard fought battle-field save that 
there was no sound of fire-arms. Strangely 
enough, though the combatants were frenzied 
with rage, sometimes in desperate straits and 
frequently had loaded guns in their hands all 


132 


OUR HETTY. 


through the strife, not a single shot was fired, 
and though there were many broken limbs and 
bruised skulls, no one was shot or murdered. 
That fate, however, would have befallen John 
Cameron, had his rescue depended solely upon 
Uncle David and his Cameron brethren. 

Hetty Mulveil happened to be in the street 
and to hear, before it reached Uncle David, that 
alarming cry : 

They’re killing John Cameron in McClos- 
key’s !” 

Without an instant’s hesitation she ran to her 
lover’s aid and fearlessly plunged into the mur- 
derous conflict about him. In ten seconds more, 
she would have been too late. 

The second Cameron had disappeared among 
the unconscious Mulveils strewing the floor, and 
John stood alone, with his foes closing thickly 
around him, wounding each other by the eager 
ferocity of their blows at him. Still he wielded 
the heavy stool, and, wherever it fell, an arm 
dropped disabled, or a man tumbled headlong 
with a bruised skull, but the end was plainly near. 
He was too much exhausted to evade blows, and 
gradually they ^ were beating him down; his 
breath came in hoarse gasps ; blood from a gash 
in his forehead ran into his eyes and blinded 
him ; yet he fought desperately to keep his feet, 
knowing well that to fall was to lose hope. 

As Hetty sprang into the door, a man knocked 
senseless by one of John’s wild sweeps of the 


‘‘OAMERONS TO THE RESCUE !' 


133 


stool, fell against her, dropping into her arms 
the rifle with which he had been endeavoring to 
brain her lover. She seized the gun and held it, 
while slipping on one side to let him tumble to 
the floor, where he lay quiet. No one seemed 
to notice her advent, anH for a moment she stood 
irresolute, hardly able to see anything clearly 
in that semi-obscurity, into which she had so 
suddenly come from the brilliant sunlight out- 
side. Then her overstrained senses seemed to 
intensify her powers of perception, and she saw 
with inexpressible horror, and more clearly as 
it seemed to her than by mere natural vision, 
death hovering over her lover. 

A heavy iron weight, hurled by some cow- 
ardly miscreant behind him, struck the back of 
his head and sent him plunging forward, sense- 
less, with wide-stretched hands, face downward 
to the floor. At that moment came the warning 
yell from a fleeing Mulveil at the door : 

“Run! Save yourselves! Uncle Dave is 
coming !” 

The wolv^es did not wait to mangle their 
quarry, but struck by sudden terror, dashed to 
the street and fled away; all save one, Rufus 
Goldie. He had been keeping himself as safe as 
possible, on the outer edge of the fray, waiting 
for such an opportunity as this, and now sprang 
forward with a shout of triumph, swinging an 
axe above his head. But before he could bury 
its blade in the brain of the helpless man prone 


134 


OUK HETTY. 


before him, his infernal joy was blighted. Love 
was swifter than bate. Strong as an Amazon 
and quick as a panther, Hetty delivered a crush- 
ing blow upon his right shoulder with a rifle 
that had so providentially fallen into her hands, 
and he staggered backward with a scream of 
pain, as his shattered arm fell to his side. 

“ Cowardly murderers !” the girl cried, swing- 
ing the rifle to strike again. 

With an oath he jumped to the door to escape, 
reaching it only in time to meet Uncle David, 
who floored him by one of those mighty blows 
the giant so seldom trusted himself to strike. 

Hetty dropped upon one knee and raised her ' 
lover in her strong arms to a sitting posture. 
The sight of his sad plight quite overcame her. 

“ Oh, my love — my darling ! They have killed 
you !” she moaned, sobbing, and kissing him. 

Uncle David brought in a handful of snow, 
which he applied to his brow and temples. 

Slowly his consciousness returned, and with- 
out any vague mental wanderings, such as might 
well have been expected ; for his*^ first feeble 
words were : 

“ If this isn’t a dream, I ’m in big luck. Kiss 
me again, Hetty, if it ’s real.” 



CHAPTER XIII. 

SCORE^ONE FOR JOHN AND HETTY. 

Constable Mulveirs fine scheme had come 
utterly to naught. His assistant Goldie’s collar 
bone and shoulder had been so mashed that it 
was feared he would be somewhat crippled for 
life. He himself had been so mauled that it was 
at first doubtful if he would recover, and a fort- 
night in bed had not altogether made him well. 
The Mulveil’s had been thoroughly whipped in 
the finest faction fight that had occurred in years, 
and, for it all, there was no offset in injury to 
John Cameron. The young fellow’s hurts had 
been almost cured by Hetty’s kisses even before 
Uncle David led him away from McCloskey’s ; 
and as for the stain that was to have been put 
upon his good name — it had not stuck. The 
arrest was so far a failure that nobody seemed to 
remember that it had been seriously intended or 
attempted. Goldie’s epithet was recollected 
only as a foul insult meant to provoke a fight, 
not as an expression of anything that could pos- 
sibly have been intended as an allegation of a 

[135] 


136 


OUR HETTY. 


fact. Taken all in all, “ Training Day ” had 
turned out very badly for the Mulveil interest, 
so far as the constable could see ; and he felt a 
good deal of reluctance about making another 
attempt to serve that warrant. 

Simeon had not the satisfaction of knowing it, 
but in one way the events of “ Training Day ” 
had wrought grievously for John and Hetty. 
The fight had roused up all the Mulveil tire 
latent in her mother’s breast. Had peace main- 
tained between the factions, •it is altogether prob- 
able that Mrs. Mulveil eventually would have 
grumblingly, but without active opposition, seen 
her daughter courted and even married by a 
well-to-do Cameron, and, when matters had gone 
so far, danced at their wedding with right good- 
will. But such hopes were not to be thought of 
now, when the feud blazed again and the Mul- 
veils had been whipped. 

“ Them Camerons will be walking all over us 
and wanting to hang their hats on the horns of 
the moon, now,” she declared, “ but a Cameron 
hat shall never find a nail in my house again. 
Three times now, that John Cameron has been 
here after you, Hetty, and if he comes the fourth, 
1 '11 scald him. 1 wonder you can sit there and 
look me in the face after what you have done. 
Surely he must have bewitched you. But twice 
he has sat up with you, the last time only the 
Sunday night before the fight, after you making 
a monkey of the decent man who is kin to the 


SCORE ONE FOR JOHN AND HETTY. 


137 


Mulveils. And yet you go fighting for him ; 
against your own people, too. What would 
your father say, if he could see yoif now, I ’d 
like to know ?” 

“ If my father were alive, he would be ashamed 
of me if I wouldn’t fight to prevent the cowardly 
murder of a helpless man, whether friend or 
foe.” 

“ H-m ! Well, I don’t say : ‘ No ’ altogether 
to that. When you saw a thing like that about 
to be done, of course 1 wouldn’t blame you for 
stopping it, if you could ; but what business had 
you to be there to see it ? Why must you poke 
your nose into the men’s fighting among them- 
selves ?” 

“ To save John Cameron’s life.” 

“ Well — all right ; you saved it — though there ’s 
neither luck nor grace in a girl fighting against 
her own people. But — you saved it. And now 
let that be the end of your colloguing with him. 
Let me hear no more of your John Cameron. If \ 
he comes here again, as I told you before, I ’ll 
scald him — and you may speak to him just the 
once more to tell him so.” 

Hetty knew her mother was in earnest, and 
that it would be useless to attempt argument 
with her, so said nothing in reply ; but if Mrs. 
Mulveil imagined that her dictum put an end to 
that love affair, she was never more mistaken in 
her life. 


138 


OUR HETTY. 


John Cameron of course had to be informed of 
Mrs. Mulveil’s uncompromising hostility, but it 
did not seem to depress his spirits greatly. 

“ That’s all right,” he said, complacently. “ If 
she takes any comfort in feeling that way, I 
have no objection. In fact, I think it is rather 
fortunate she comes out so flat-footed about it, 
for now you see, Hetty, there is nothing for us 
but to go right off and get married. Your idea 
of waiting until spring will not do at all under 
these circumstances. You see that?” 

But Hetty did not quite “ see that.” She 
hesitated at a conclusive revolt against and cast- 
ing off of the accustomed trammels of maternal 
authority. It took time to convince her that her 
mother was not, and under no probable circum- 
stances ever would be, amenable to reason in the 
matter of John Cameron. And until that had 
been established beyond question in her mind, 
her meetings with John were necessarily clandes- 
tine, infrequent and unsatisfactory. They saw 
each other at church and spelling-school, but 
she did not venture to permit hiui to accompany 
her home from either — or hardly even speak to 
her. 

That they ever had opportunities for exchange 
of those weighty trifles and important nothings 
that lovers find it so necessary to say and so 
sweet to hear was almost wholly due to Danny. 
John had given him that promised gun, and the 
imp’s gratitude was as unbounded as his joy. 


SCORE ONE FOR JOHN AND HETTY. 


139 


John’s generosity had quite won his heart, and 
made his service in the lovers’ behalf active, 
energetic and continuous. It was only necessary 
for his sister to say to him : “ Danny, I ’m go- 

ing over this afternoon to Aunt Eliza’s,” or “ to 
Mrs. Plotts,” or to some other neighbor’s, and 
the chances were ten to one that, either in going 
or returning, she would encounter John Cam- 
eron. But the season was against open-air court- 
ship. Cupid in great-coat, fur-cap and over- 
shoes is little like himself as lovers know him. 
John, being a decidedly practical young man, 
did not take kindly to divorcing love and com- 
fort to suit the whim of any old woman. 

“ Don’t get your back up at my saying so, 
Hetty,” he would argue, “ but it is derned non- 
sense for you and me to wade around knee deep 
in the snow, getting snufflier every day, when 
we might just as well be sitting cosily by our 
own fireside, in our own home, leaving those 
who don’t like it to do the wading and snuffling 
around outside to their heart’s content.” 

The impression was growing gradually 
stronger in Hetty’s mind that John was about 
right. 

Their only really comfortable interviews were 
at the house of Mrs. Davis — the distant neighbor 
whom Hetty had been visiting on the day she 
rescued John from his perch on a knob of the 
Devil’s Backbone. That good woman intui- 
tively grasped the situation upon the occasion 


140 


OUR HETTY. 


of the young couple’s first apparently accidental 
meeting in her presence, and thereafter, if the 
course of their true love did not run smoothly, 
the fault was not hers. During hours at a time 
she would leave them alone together in her cosy 
sitting-room, while she busied herself with 
household duties in the kitchen, singing like a 
lark for sheer sympathetic happiness of heart, 
and keeping a sharp lookout on the lane, to see 
that nobody came to surprise them. 

But that was all too good to last. Mrs. Mul- 
veil looked with suspicion upon the great intim- 
acy that seemed to have suddenly sprung up 
between Hetty and Mrs. Davis. 

“ I don’t see,” she said querulously to Mary 
Elder, “ for what she wants to ride over there 
two or maybe three times in a week. I ’ll be 
bound it ’s no ‘ Rose of Sharon ’ or ‘ Liberty 
Tree ’ quilting patterns she does be going after 
all the time. And the easy way she takes it 
about that John Cameron not being let come 
snooping around here, isn’t natural. It wouldn’t 
surprise me a mite if she met him over there, 
and I ’m just going to find out the first time she 
goes to Mrs. Davis’s again. But don’t you tell 
her I said so.” 

“ No ; 1 will not,” promised Mary. 

And she did not. But that evening, when she 
and Hetty were sitting together by the kitchen 
fire, Mary, affecting an air of mystery and pre- 


SCORE ONE EOR JOHN AND HETTY. 


141 


tending fear of being overheard, said, in an 
impressive whisper: 

“ I was looking at a book of Danny’s to-day — 
the one about birds and beasts — and came across 
something that I do not believe.” 

Hetty, who was no thick-witted girl, unable to 
take a hint, comprehended readily that she was 
to look for a meaning under the mere^ words 
which, in themselves, were certainly not of so 
incendiary a character as to demand such caution 
in their utterance. But she simply replied, with 
a glance of intelligence : 

“ I should think so. I ’ve read that book 
myself. What was it, dear ?” 

** It says that when the ostrich is pursued by 
hunters, it sticks its foolish head into a pile of 
sand, imagines itself then entirely covered from 
sight, and lies there quietly until its pursuers 
come and seize it. Do you think it can be true 
that there is any bird so simple ?” 

“ No, I don’t,” answered Hetty, promptly, 
with her eyes snapping as she leaned over close 
to her friend’s ear and whispered with emphasis: 
“ Nor any girl, either — about here !” 

The next time Hetty rode over to Mrs. 
Davis’s to get some points about a peculiarly 
intricate pattern on which her heart was set — 
Danny started out a good hour before her to go 
squirrel-hunting — Mrs. Mulveil offered no objec- 
tion to her daughter paying the visit, and did 
not even notice the disappearance of the erratic 


142 


OUR HETTY. 


Danny, who went and came with his gun as he 
pleased ; but an hour after Hetty rode off the 
old woman saddled another horse and followed. 

John Cameron, by appointment made at their 
last preceding meeting, was waiting at Mrs. 
Davis’s for his true-love, when she arrived and 
breathlessl}^ told him she was almost afraid to 
come over for fear her mother would be upon 
her heels at any minute. 

“ How could she know of our meeting here?” 
asked the young man. 

“ I don’t think she knows, but 1 am sure, from 
something Mary Elder said to me, that she sus- 
pects, and if she does, she will do her best to 
find out. Danny is. in the bushes by the road at 
the edge of the woods, and will fire two shots if 
she comes along, so as to give time for you to 
get out of the way ; and I guess there is not 
much danger of her catching us, but it does 
make me feel awful nervous.” 

“ And it makes me feel consarned mean to be 
dodging and hiding in this way. I tell you 
what it is, Hetty : If we are to be chased out of 
here, that settles it. I ’ll be a sufferin’ lamb no 
longer for any old woman under the broad can- 
opy. Which do you think you ’d prefer to live 
with the rest of your life — your mother or 
me ?” 

“ Why, what a question, John ! You know 
well enough. I love my mother; but if I have 
to give up anybody, it will not be you, John.” 


SCORE ONE FOR JOHN AND HETTY. 


143 


** Then, if she follows you here to-day, off we 
go to-morrow. What do you say ?” 

“ I ’m not saying anything, John.” 

“ And 1 ’m talking for two?” 

“ I guess you are, John.” 

Seizing her impulsively in his embrace and 
kissing her, he exclaimed : 

“ I ’m the happiest fellow in the Keystone 
State, my darling, and 1 hope to thunder she 
comes. But it ’s clearly understood that, whether 
she does now or waits for another occasion, her 
appearance shall be the signal for you becoming 
Mrs. John Cameron the next day?” 

‘‘ Isn’t that just a little — a little sudden, John ?” 

The more sudden it is, the less chance is 
given for anybody anticipating and interfering 
with it.” 

While they were still engaged in providently 
laying their plans to meet the probable contin- 
gencies of the near future, Mrs. Davis, who had 
been left watching in the kitchen, suddenly put 
her plump, good-natured face in at the sitting- 
room door, calling to them : 

“Two shots have just been fired, Hetty; by 
Danny, I guess. If so, she ’ll be here in a minute, 
and we ’ve got no time to lose. John, snatch 
them horses out of the bed-room. Push that 
stand back, Hetty, and get hold of the end there. 
Don’t let it come loose on the big one.” 

While she rapidly gave her orders, the young 
man quickly brought out and set up the two tall 


144 


OUR Betty. 


trestles, locally known as “ horses,” upon which 
the women lifted the quilting-frame — previously 
rolled up and laid on the floor along the wall — 
and pegged it out so as to expose a generous 
expanse of the elaborate patch-work stretched 
upon it. Then Mrs. Davis considerately with- 
drew, to see if Mrs. Mulveil was really coming, 
but almost instantly re-appeared, exclaiming: 

“ Law, sakes ! If she isn’t at the gate already ! 
And she ’s ’lighting down to open it herself. 
Up with you, John. She wants to surprise us, 
and we musn’t let her do it.” 

John laughingly scrambled up a ladder pen- 
dent straight against the wall, and disappeared, 
through a square open trap in the slab ceiling. 
Then, detaching the ladder from its hooks, he 
drew it up into the loft with him. 

Mrs. Davis and Hetty, taking seats on oppo- 
site sides of the quilting-frame, appeared to be 
gravely occupied with the intricacies of that 
overpoweringly magnificent but exceptionally 
difficult pattern known as “the Mexican Pi’ny 
and Cypress-and-Star Border presenting a 
tableau so innocent and undeserving of suspicion 
that when Mrs. Mulveil abruptly opened the 
door and entered upon it, she blushed for her 
error and precipitancy. 



CHAPTER XIV. 

CUPID ’S SURPRISE. 

It was hard for Hetty, when she and Mary 
nestled close before the fire that evening for 
their customary long sympathetic talk and when, 
afterward, they retired to bed together, to re- 
strain herself from telling the important step she 
contemplated taking on the morrow. But the 
secret was not wholly her own, and she feared 
to intrust it to the chances of the little old maid’s 
involuntary betrayal. The only person to whom 
she could talk frankly about it was Danny, 
whose cooperation was, to a certain extent, 
necessary in the plan John had formed, and 
whose willingness to render it was simply enthu- 
siastic. 

“ You,” she said to him, “ want to get down to 
the bend of the road, by the big walnut-tree, real 
early in the morning and wait there until John 
comes along in his cutter. The minute you see 
him, fire two shots, close together, just as you 
did to-day. That is all you have to do.” 

And what ’ll you be doing ?” 


[145] 


146 


OUR HETTY. 


“ Running for dear life.’' 

Danny reflected and shook his head dubi- 
ously. 

“ Gals can’t run,” he said contemptuously, 
“ ’cause they wear frocks. Mam ’ll catch you, 
sure, and I sort of don’t want to fill her full of 
shot ’thout I have to.” 

“ Why, Danny ! You awful boy! The idea 
of anybody ever wanting you to do such a 
thing 1” 

‘‘Well, didn’t I tell you I don’t like to, my- 
self? But, say ! I ’ve got the idea of what you 
want. Laudanum, you know, puts people to 
sleep. Now, there ’s a bottle of horse liniment 
in the barn, that ’s chock full of laudanum. Bill 
Taylor says he can smell it ; and if we ’d chuck 
that into mam — ” 

“ Danny 1 Oh, you ’ll surely get yourself 
hanged some day ! If you don’t promise me 
that you will not do anything to mother, I ’ll not 
run away at all. Why, how do you know but 
that you might half kill her, giving her things 
like that? And then, how would you feel, you 
wicked boy?” 

“ How I ’d feel. Well, sorry, I s’pose. But 
how do you s’pose John ’ll feel if this scheme 
busts up? He ’s just dead set on getting you, 
though I ’m sure I don’t see why, when he ’s got 
the pick of the girls in the township?” 

“That will do now, Danny. You will know 
more about such things when you get to be older. 


Cupid’s surprise. 


147 


All you have to do now is just what John says, 
and if things don’t turn out right, it will not be 
your fault.” 

Danny did not dispute that proposition, but it 
was plain to be seen he took a gloomy view of 
the probable outcome of a job of mischief not 
personally engineered by himself, and would 
have been quite willing to assume the responsi- 
bility of running the elopement in ways that 
would have been a terror to parents and guard- 
ians. 

Very little sleep did Hetty Mulveil get that 
night ; not because she was a feather-headed 
fool-girl, half-crazed by the delicious excitement 
of a prospective elopement, but by reason of her 
being a good, sensible one, who realized that she 
was about to take a very serious step — one, in all 
probability, irrevocable and weighted with all 
her life’s destiny. It is not necessary that an 
intelligent, reasoning maiden shall, under such 
circumstances, feel a distrust of her lover to set 
her gravely pondering upon what may be hidden 
behind the veil of the future. He is but one fac- 
tor in the problem with which fate confronts 
her, though, it must be admitted, a very import- 
ant one. The wisest foresight is only good 
guesswork; in every darkness danger lurks, and 
love alone, whatever the poets may say, will not 
lighten the obscurity of the next hour of our 
existence. Fate never ceases tempting and com- 
pelling us. Every moment of life is fraught with 


14B 


OtJR HETTY. 


infinite potentialities, and according as we vivify 
those moments with earnestness of purpose and 
intensity of action, so we wake those latent forces 
into active being and give to their control the 
helm of our destiny. 

The girl got into a condition of nervous wake- 
fulness, with thinking, hoping and fearing. 

“Come!” she said to herself at length. “I 
shall positively get no sleep at all, and will look 
like an owl to-morrow, if I don’t drive John and 
marrying and all that clean out of my head. I 
wonder if counting the clock-ticks would put me 
to sleep It does some people, I ’ve heard. One, 
two, three, four — How strangely loud they 
are! Everything sounds louder at night, I sup- 
pose. I wonder if Mary Elder knows that she 
snores — just a little bit? One, two, three — I 
wonder if I snore? And if I do, what will John 
say if he ever finds it out ? Pshaw ! Why can’t 
I stop thinking about John? One, two — Oh! 
Twelve o’clock ! Well, if this isn’t the longest 
night! I wonder it John is lying awake, too? 
There it is again! ‘John!’ ‘John!’ Always 
John. I wonder what makes the light of so many 
colors? Every time the fire flares up there is a 
little ribbon, of the color of gold, under the 
door; and the moonlight on the wall is as white 
and cold as the snow ; and the light in John’s 
eyes is blue. Bother John’s eyes! I wish I 
could go to sleep. How can a body sleep when 
there are so many noises? I don’t believe there 


Cupid’s surprise. 


149 


ever were so many noises about this house before. 
Let me count. There *s the clock makes three 
kinds : ticking, a wheezy whiz when it ’s going 
to strike and striking. Then there are the 
crickets. I don’t believe they make that noise 
with their hind-legs, whatever the natural-history 
book may say. And that mouse is gnawing 
away again. Of course, Danny has forgotten to 
set the trap. To-morrow night, I ’ll — no, I won’t 
— I’ll be away with John. There it is! John 
again. Everything comes ’round to John. Oh, 
this won’t do at all. One, two, three, four, five I 
Good gracious ! What a crack that was ! I 
wonder why timber snaps so in cold weather. 
John said he had got all the timber out for a new 
house, and we would live at his mother’s until 
it is put up. I wonder if she will like me. If 
she doesn’t, I shall be awfully lonesome when 
John is not about. One, two, three, four, five, 
six — ” 

So she fought the night through until the 
clock struck four, when she thought she might 
venture to get up without astonishing the family 
too profoundly. Her dressing had been care- 
fully planned beforehand. The gown would, of 
course, have to be the ordinary every-day brown 
merino. A better one, such as she would have 
liked to wear when going anywhere with John, 
would certainly provoke her mother’s vigilant 
suspicions. But the old lady, luckily, would not 
see with what care she had dressed underneath, to 


160 


OUR HETTY. 


secure comfort on the long, cold drive before her. 
Her warmly wadded, fur-trimmed cloak, cherry- 
tinted knitted hood, white woolen muffler,” 
thick mittens and fur-lined overshoes she rolled 
in a tight bundle and hid in a dark corner of the 
summer-kitchen, near the back door. All these 
preparations had been made before Mrs. Mulveil 
even noticed that her daughter was moving 
about the house. 

Then Hetty busied herself getting breakfast. 
Soon the tempting odors of hot coffee and frying 
ham tickled Danny’s nose, up in the loft, and for 
once he came tumbling down-stairs in a hurry, 
without having to* be rolled out of bed or even 
called — an almost unprecedented thing. And so 
eager was he to get off with his gun — “ squirrel- 
hunting,” he said, but with a sly wink at Hetty 
— that he would hardly wait to snatch a hasty 
breakfast. 

The hired man came in. He was going to 
take a load of grain to the mill that morning and 
could not get an early breakfast at home, because 
his wife was sick. Hetty sat him down at the 
table and began dipping the buckwheat batter 
from its crock to the smoking griddle, for cakes. 
By the time he was through eating, Mary Elder 
and Mrs. Mulveil were up. The latter felicitated 
herself upon seeing the hired man before he 
started. She fancied that she had felt some pre- 
monitory twinges of rheumatism and wanted him 
to be sure to get for her, from the miller, a bot- 


Cupid’s surprise. 


151 


tie of black-snake oil. He said he would not for- 
get and went away. Hetty put upon the table a 
tall pile of golden-brown buckwheat cakes, and 
the three women sat down. 

The meal was little more than half over, when 
the girl’s sharp ears caught the sound of two 
gun-shots, close together ; at a distance, but 
clear. Neither of the others noticed them. 

“ There !” she exclaimed. I have forgotten 
again to set water on foi; the dishes,” and, rising 
from the table which was in the kitchen, took 
up the kettle to place it upon the stove. 

It was empty — as she had taken care it should 
be. She turned to the water-pail ; it, too, was 
empty. Taking it up, as if going to the well, 
she passed out of the back door, which she closed 
behind her. Her mother and Mary were deep 
in discussion of the advisability of “ turning ” a 
certain blue cashmere that had already seen 
much service. But, after some minutes, the old 
woman exclaimed petulantly : 

“ Why don’t that girl come and finish her 
breakfast ? Hetty ! Hetty !” 

There was no response. At that precise 
moment Hetty was already two hundred yards 
away from the house, with her bundle in her 
arms, flying down the lane as if an angry blill 
had been behind her. 

After a time, Mrs. Mulveil broke forth again : 

“ Her coffee is getting cold and them buck- 
wheats will be like leather. Hetty ! Hetty !” 


152 


OUR HETTY. 


Getting no reply she arose^ went to the back 
door, looked out and repeated her call, loudly, 
but in vain. 

By that time Hetty was in John Cameron’s 
cutter, out of sight, beyond the bend in the road, 
doing the best she could with nervous fingers 
and her lover’s rather awkward help, to bundle 
herself up comfortably in the warm wraps she 
had not dared to wait to put on until now. 

“ Where are we going, John ?” she asked 
anxiously. 

“ To the turnpike, first. There our track will 
be lost. Then, if they chase us, they will not 
know whether we have struck out for Nobles- 
town, Canonsburg, or Washington, and, as they 
will hardly be likely to think we have started off 
in this way for Pittsburg, we will get an ever- 
lasting start on them while they are puzzling.” 

When Mrs. Mulveil had repeated her call 
two or three times, she noticed the door of the 
summer-kitchen open, observed the water-pail 
dropped in the snow near by, and suspicion 
flashed, with the suddenness of an explosion, 
into her mind. Without a word she wheeled, 
and darted into Hetty’s bedroom. From there, * 
a howl of angry dismay quickly proclaimed that 
she had made a discovery : Hetty’s warm wraps, 
as well as the gfrl herself were missing, and the 
old woman shrewdly guessed the truth. 

“Hetty has run away with that John Cam- 
eron !” she shrieked, rushing back to the kitchen. 


Cupid’s surprise. 


153 


Mary Elder, leisurely enjoying her buckwheat- 
cakes and honey, was almost paralyzed by 
amazement, and could only weakly gasp ; 

“ Oh, no, Mrs. Mulveil ! You don’t think so ?” 

“Don’t I? Well, I do! And, what’s more, 
1 know she has. I ’d lay my life on it!” 

“ Why, she never even hinted to me that she 
had a thought of such a thing. I should think 
she would have told me.” 

“ Oh, no ! Not she ! Of course not ! She 
was smart enough for keeping her mouth to her- 
self, and with him putting her up to it. And to 
think I didn’t see anything out of the way with 
her ! I Tnight have known there was some 
deviltry in her getting up so mortal early this 
morning. But she needn’t think she is going to 
get away so mighty easy. Danny ! Hi, Danny !” 

“ Danny’s gone to shoot squirrels.” 

“ So he has ; and 1 ’d forgot it. This trouble 
drove it out of my head. 1 ’ll have to ride the 
mare. Consarn the boy ! No day would do 
him to go hunting but this day, of all the days 
in the year !” 

“Why, Mrs. Mulveil, Danny goes hunting 
every day !” 

“Yah ! So he does. Well, I’ll go do some 
hunting myself. I ’m ready, now.” 

Mrs. Mulveil had not wasted a minute in her 
talking, for she was a woman of action ; and 
while her tongue ran on, she had been busily 
preparing herself to pursue the lovers. Fully 


154 


OUR HETTY. 


dressed now for the road, it took her but a few 
minutes to saddle the bay mare and promptly 
she set out at a gallop for Cousin Simeon’s. His 
kinship^ and constabulary authority, she seemed 
to think, would make him her most effective ally 
in this emergency, but how much stronger her 
confidence would have been had she known that 
his energies would be inspired by an infinitely 
more powerful feeling — that of ferocious jeal- 
ousy. 

Simeon and Rufus were both at the saw-mill, 
putting in a new log-car, when she reined up at 
the door, with a loud, impatient — 

‘‘Hi! There!” 

In a few vigorous words she told her startling 
news ; Hetty had run away with John Cameron ! 

Rufus did most of the audible swearing, but 
Simeon’s face was hard-set and white with a 
passion deeper than words could vent. The con- 
stable hated his successful rival, as a Cameron ; 
as a man who had defied his authority and 
whipped him ; as his superior in every manly 
grace and attribute ; and finally as the winner of 
the fair prize upon which he had fixed his heart’s 
desire. Yes; he was the right man to enlist for 
the pursuit of the lovers. He still had that war- 
rant in his possession and now it would be worth 
while taking all probable risks to effect its ser- 
vice. It was as a fugitive from justice that he 
would hunt John Cameron down; not as a lover 
eloping with his sweetheart. Of course, under 


Cupid’s surprise. 


155 


existing circumstances, the young fellow would 
be certain to resist arrest. At least, it was to be 
hoped he would. And if he did ? Well, a con- 
stable in the discharge of his duty could legally 
take such extreme measures to enforce his 
authority and uphold the dignity of the law as 
would never be sanctioned in an ordinary citizen 
interfering, however properly, in another’s love 
affair. The idea suggested by Rufus during 
their ride to church was by no means a bad one. 

It must not be supposed that Simeon per- 
mitted himself to put into audible words any- 
thing of these thoughts turbulenlly rolling 
through his mind. He was much too cautious 
for that. 

“We ’ll do all we can for you, to bring Hetty 
back,” he said to Mrs. Mulveil and that was all. 

While Rufus hurriedly hitched a team to the 
two-horse sleigh, put in the robes and secured a 
bottle of rum for consumption en route^ Simeon, 
in the tool-room of the mill, gave his exclusive 
attention to the careful loading of his revolver, 
which was one of the old “ pepper-box ’’kind, but 
a sufficiently deadly weapon at close quarters. 

Within half an hour, the pursuers started, and 
when she had seen them off, Mrs. Mulveil 
jogged away home in a much more contented 
and hopeful frame of mind. 

She had sent Murder to hunt down Love. 



CHAPTER XV. 

JOHN AND HETTY ESCAPE. 

A light snow had fallen during the night, and 
on the comparatively little-travelled country 
road the lovers first took there was no difficulty 
in following the track of John’s cutter. But on 
the turnpike it was quickly lost among the 
multiplicity of others. Onlj" from the direction 
it took in emerging from the road — turning 
towards the left — it appeared that they had 
gone to Washington. But, after driving half an 
hour, the pursuers met a man coming from 
Washington, who said that he had seen no cutter 
with a man and a girl in it on the road that day. 
They went back to where the trail entered upon 
the ’pike, and, by more careful and acute obser- 
vation than they had employed before, found 
now that John had cunningly driven a few 
hundred yards toward Washington, and then 
retraced his course and gone in the direction of 
Canonsburg. 

He had evidently calculated upon the possi- 
[156] 


JOHN AND HETTY ESCAPE. 


157 


bility of what had occurred and his trick had cost 
• his pursuers nearly an hour and a half of valu- 
able time. The consciousness of having been so 
easily outwitted still further enraged Simeon 
Mulveil, and he lashed his horses into a gallop. 

The fortunate accident of meeting a man who 
knew Cameron and had recognized him, with 
a girl, in a cutter, on the road to Pittsburg, 
saved the constable from a vain chase to Canons- 
burg, and enabled him, though still far in the 
rear, to gain ground steadily in the pursuit from 
that time on. 

John Cameron, confident of having baffled his 
possible pursuers and dreaming naught of the 
danger now following swiftly, was wildly happy 
in possession of the greatest joy and triumph 
of his life. Hetty, nestled close under his arm, 
so bundled up that only her sparkling eyes, the 
blossomy roundness of her cheeks and the tip of 
her little nose appeared amid her mufflings, in 
submission to his insistance uncovered her lips 
*‘just for a moment;’' and the moment was so 
long that the big black horse felt the neglected 
reins lying loosely upon his back, and intoxicated 
by exultation in his own vigor and the inspirit- 
ing freshness of the morning breeze, took the 
bit between his teeth and galloped madly away 
with the speed of the wind, his bells sounding a 
paean of rejoicing. That was on the country 
turnpike ; there was no such good going on the 
Pittsburg road. 


158 


OUR HETTY. 


It had been badly cut up by heavy teaming 
during a recent thaw, and the snow-fall of the* 
preceding night had only partly concealed and 
not filled the deep ruts and holes in the frozen 
ground. Added to that, when the sun was well 
up, the snow was softened just enough to “ ball 
constantly under the black horse’s feet and worry 
him. Consequently, the travel was slower than 
John had anticipated, and it was the middle of 
the afternoon when he found himself descend- 
ing the long, steep side-hill above Temperance- 
ville and saw Pittsburg, across the Monongahela 
River, before him. But that did not trouble 
him. Anybody in pursuit would have had the 
same difficulties to encounter, and he had a good 
enough start to free him from anxiety about the 
result of a chase. Besides, his gaol was in sight; 
the victory practically won. 

The little ferry-boat — propelled by horse- 
power — had been laid up for the season, and 
since then all crossing of the river was upon the 
ice. So thick and strong was this natural bridge 
that enormous wagons laden with coal, and each 
drawn by four huge horses, had crossed it in 
almost a continuous procession between the 
mines of Coal Hill and the city, day after day 
for weeks, without causing its glassy floor to 
even crack; but it was no longer so secure. 
Successive snow-falls had “made it rotten,” and 
river-men affirmed that the swift current of the 
stream had “ cut it away on the under side,” so 


JOHTT AND HETTY ESCAPE. 


169 


that now, though still perfectly safe for pedes- 
trians, only rather venturesome persons drove 
horses upon it. Those who did drive across fol- 
lowed a curving course almost like a great letter 
S, that led from the ferry landing on the South- 
Pittsburg side to the city wharf near “ the 
Point,” that way having been carefully picked 
out by sounding where the ice was yet thickest 
and strongest. 

The day watchman of the ferry company, 
smoking his pipe on the bank as John drove 
down by him, warned him, as he did all who 
seemed to be strangers. 

The ice isn’t just as safe as it has been.” 

“ But they are still crossing on it,” answered 
John, argumentatively. “ There is a cutter just 
starting to come across from Pittsburg, now.” 

“Oh, yes. They do. And they will, until 
somebody breaks through and is drowned, 1 
suppose, as they do every winter. I don’t say it 
isn’t safe enough yet, for a single horse and cut- 
ter if you are careful ; but you ’ll have to look 
out that you don’t get off the curving track that 
is marked out. There are thin patches inside 
the bends, both ways, where it wouldn’t be safe 
for a man to go afoot, let alone drive a horse.” 

“ Thank you heartily for the caution,” replied 
the young man, gathering up his reins, “ 1 ’ll 
stick to the road and go fast.” 

“ That ’s the safest way.” 

And fast John did go. Whether the black 


160 


OtJR fiETTli!^. 


horse was inspired by the novelty of trotting 
upon so level a floor, and feeling the cutter 
hardly a feather’s weight behind him, or whether 
he was conscious that there was danger in, giving 
the ice time to crack under him, none may say, 
but whatever the cause, he went across well 
inside a three-minute gait. He was still slowly 
mounting the steep, deeply rutted road from the 
river into the city, when a two-horse sleigh, 
with two men in it, dashed across the bridge 
over Saw-Mill Run from Temperanceville into 
South Pittsburg and down the slope to the ferry 
landing. 

There the faithful watchman halted them, to 
repeat the warning he had given to John Cam- 
eron a few minutes before. 

“ You ’d better not go out on the ice with that 
double-team !” he cried to them. 

“ Why not ?” 

“The ice may not hold you. It has been get- 
ting weaker for several days past, and heavy 
teams don’t chance it any more.” 

While he was speaking, the cutter John had 
remarked starting from Pittsburg reached the 
bank and came slowly up. 

“ He seems to have come across all right,” 
argued Simeon Mulveil, who was one of the men 
in the sleigh, jerking his head toward the man in 
the cutter. 

“ Oh, yes. But there ’s only one of him and 
one horse.” 


CROSSING rUb: MOxNONGAHELA ICK-HRIDGE ,- Chapter AM'. 





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JOHN AND HETTY ESCAPE. ICl 

“How’s the ice?” shouted Rufus Goldie to 
the lonely driver. 

“Good enough, I guess,” the man replied, 
with an air of indifference, stopping to let his 
horse rest a little. 

“ Did it crack much ?” 

“Not that I noticed, only about the middle, 
where I met a cutter going the other way, and 
the double weight made it holler some.” 

“ Did that cutter have a young man and a girl 
in it?” demanded Simeon, eagerly. 

“Yes.” 

With an oath and without waiting for any 
further information or hearing the warning cried 
after him to “ stick to the road,” Simeon gave 
his horses the lash, and they plunged down the 
bank and out on the ice. 

Instead of following the long, curving sweep 
of the comparatively safe track, he drove in a 
straight line toward the landing on the farther 
side of the river. The ferry watchman and the 
man in the cutter, the latter standing up in his 
vehicle to see better, watched in silence and with 
staring eyes the progress of the foolhardy trav- 
elers. The sleigh crossed the first thin field of 
ice and passed the middle of the stream in safety. 

“ Qosh !” exclaimed the watchman. “ They ’ll 
do it ; but I wouldn’t try it for a farm.” 

At that very moment, when the swiftly flying 
vehicle was within a hundred yards of the Pitts- 
burg shore, horses, men and sleigh suddenly dis- 


162 


OUR HETTY. 


appeared from sight. There was no struggle, 
no re-appearance and battling for life, nothing 
but a wide circular expanse of water, that looked 
black, and in which big pieces of ice slowly came 
to the surface and lazily drifted down to the 
lower side. 




CHAPTER XVI. 

NOW, OR IN THE FUTURE? 

The lovers knew nothing of the tragic incident 
that had occurred behind them. They were not 
even aware that they had been pursued, and 
were quite happy in the confidence that their 
troubles were practically at an end — the state of 
mind that is the rose-garlanded door through 
which Fate delights to usher the wayfarer into 
the chamber filled with her most abominable 
surprises. Cloudless skies are those least to be 
trusted, for skies, like all things else, must 
change, and to them all change must be for the 
worse. They smile most when preparing to 
overwhelm us. * 

• John drove to the old Farmers’ Inn, kept by 
Andrew Robinson — one of the family from which 
Robinson’s Run took its name — put his horse 
and cutter in charge of a hostler, led Hetty to the 
sitting-room and sent for the landlord. Andrew 
was believed to be personally acquainted with 
every adult in Washington County, and was so 
universally popular among them that, so far as 

[163] 


164 : 


OtJR HETTY. 


they were concerned, his was the only house of 
entertainment in the city. The genial old fel- 
low deserved the regard in which he was held, 
for he was honest, kind-hearted and generous, 
worthy traits of character that were shared by his 
excellent wife, who was quite content to be his 
equal, without claiming to be his “ better” half. 
That he was fat, somewhat bald, somewhat slow 
of speech, and, in some inexplicable way, had 
picked up a strange Quaker habit of speech in 
no way detracted from his general merit. 

Feeling instinctively well assured of his sym- 
pathetic interest, John told him all about the 
elopement, as far as it had gone, and demanded 
his aid in the further steps necessary to realiza- 
tion of their hopes. 

Why, to be sure, lad. I ’ll stand by thee like 
a brother — as I would have stood by thy old 
father before thee, who was my good friend, had 
he called upon me in like case. But there is noth- 
ing to be done this day in the way of marry- 
ing. It is now sun-down, and the license cannot 
be taken out before to-morrow, morning.” 

“ Is a license needed ?” • 

“ For a true, lawful, binding marriage — yes. 
Thee might go to a squire, as, indeed, persons 
of small consideration in the community do — 
sometimes from choice and more often by 
necessity — but such a way of taking a wife is 
not meet for a Cameron ; and unseemly haste is 
not demanded of thee by the circumstances. 


NOW, OR IN THE FUTURE ? 


165 


Thee has cunningly thrown thy pursuers off thy 
track and may rest in peace this night. To-mor- 
row thou mayest take in a seemly manner the 
most serious step to which thy life hath yet 
brought thee. Bethink thee, lad ; the taking of 
a wife is not a light thing, like the buying of a 
cow. It is not thy happiness only, but thy 
honor and that of thy father, and a long line of 
Cameron’s behind him, thoil wilt put in the 
hands of this maid. When thou dost call her 
* wife,' she will have one foot upon the step 
where now stands thy good mother. Doth not 
this seem then to thee a grave thing, fit to be 
done solemnly, with due consideration, under all 
required forms of law and the blessing of God ? 
Come ! Look not so glum. Thou knowest I 
am right. I will call down Betsy, my wife, and 
put her straightway in charge of the maid, that 
in no case of misadventure may scandal ever 
wag its venomous tongue against her good 
name." 

“ Why, nonsense, man ! No misadventure 
can happen. Isn’t Hetty with me, and won’t 
we be married to-morrow ?’’ 

“ Oho ! So thee has in thy pocket a guaran- 
tee that thou wilt live until to-morrow ! Do, for 
the love of Heaven, show it to me, John. Never 
have I beheld such a bond, and upon my soul 
there is nothing I have so much desired to see 
in all my life." 

' John rather sheepishly admitted that Fate had 


166 


OUR HETTY. 


given him no such security, though he deemed 
there was not much room for question in the 
premises. But he was sensible enough to see 
that the landlord’s advice was good and 
accepted it gracefully, even gratefully. Hetty, 
too, who had kept very quiet notwithstanding a 
keen sense of disappointment and anxiety, looked 
much relieved. The woman’s bug-bear, “ being 
talked about,” had loomed up in terrible propor- 
tions before her when the old landlord’s few 
words had set her thinking what people might 
say, even after John and she were married. 

Busy as her mind had been with the future 
the night before leaving home, certain contin- 
gencies, which now seemed the most naturally- 
to-be-expected things, had not occurred to her : 
first and most serious among them, that she and 
John might not get married that day, and she 
felt that had this seemed probable she would 
hardly have had the courage to run away with 
him. 

At her husband’s call of “ Mother !” promptly 
came Mrs. Betsy Robinson, a short, plump 
woman with a kind, motherly face and hair that 
where it was smoothed upon her temples looked 
white and glistening like pearls — the only indi- 
cation of age in her appearance. Having ex- 
plained the situation, the two men went out, 
leaving her alone with the girl. 

“And so this is Hetty Mulveil !” exclaimed 
the old lady, in a tone that seemed both a wel- 


NOW, OR IN THE FUTURE ? 


167 


come and a caress. “Dear me! Dear me! Why, 
1 knew you mother, Hetty, when siie was a 
Wright, before she became a Mulveil ; and 1 've 
seen you, too, my dear, but you were too small 
to remember it. If I remember rightly you 
called me : / Ga-ga ’ or ‘ Na-na ’ or something of 
that sort. And, laws-a-massy, it does seem like 
that was only the other day ! How time does 
fly, to be sure ! And here you are a great, big, 
fine-looking young woman, running off to be 
married to your lover, who looks like the sort 
of chap worth taking such a risk for, I must say. 
But, tell me, my dear,” — and she put her arm 
caressingly around the girl’s waist — “ why did 
you run away from home? Was it mamma 
who would not consent,- or did papa make the 
trouble?” 

“ Father died several years ago,” answered 
Hetty, sadly. 

“You don’t tell me so ! Well! Well! So he 
did ; I remember, now. But I had forgotten it. 
And no wonder I did. What, with the eternal 
coming and going all the time in a place like 
this, there ’s no keeping track of who is alive and 
who is not. So it was mamma? And why did 
she object to your lover? As one of the^Camer- 
ons he ought to be well off. Isn’t he?” 

“ Oh, I guess so ! I don’t know. 1 never, 
thought of that.” 

“’M! I suppose not. It may seem to you 
like a hard thing to say, my child, but that is 


168 


OUR HETrY. 


one of the first things to consider. Is he any- 
thing to the widow Mary Cameron, who used 
to be a McDougal ?" 

“ She is his mother.” 

“Oho! Then no fear but he is all right for 
means to keep a wife. Is he wild ?”. 

“John, wild? Oh, no 1 Not at all. Not so far 
as I ever heard, anyway.” 

“ Then why is your mother opposed to him !” 

“ Because he is a Cameron.” 

“ Oh, vvhat a foolish woman ! The idea of 
keeping up that old grudge to such an extent ! I 
thought it had died out years ago. Well, such 
nonsense does not deserve to be countenanced, 
my dear child, and. it will not be Betsy Robin- 
son’s fault if you don’t marry the. man of your 
heart to-morrow, no matter what mamma mav 
think about it. But to-night you ’ll have to be 
content to bide with me. Nobody can ever say 
a word again’st 3^011 when it is known that 3^011 
have been with me, the same as one of my own 
girls, from the time you came to town with your 
lover until you stood up before the minister. 
Young as 3^011 are in the ways of the wicked 
world, my dear, and thinking no evil yourself, 
you know little of what ill-minded persons 
might say if they were given the least oppor- 
tunity for talk, and it is best, believe me, to do 
as I say.” 

“ Oh, I will, Mrs. Robinson — just whatever 
you say. You are very kind. I’m sure, and I 


NOW, OR IN THE FUTURE ? 


169 


know you are right. I wouldn’t have run away 
as I did if I had not expected we would be 
married to-day. That is — 1 hardly think I 
would.” 

“ Of course, you wouldn’t, or else "you would, 
and it don’t really make any difference which, 
now,” laughed Betsy, goodhumoredly, “ for I ’ll 
see that everything is all right. When you are 
going home, 1 ’ll give you a letter to show to 
your mother, along with your marriage lines, 
and if she has even a little bit of sense, she ’ll 
make no more fuss. And 1 ’m not going to be 
too hard on you. 1 ’ve been young myself. 
After supper, I ’ll let you and John sit up in this 
room until ten o’clock. No person is likely to 
come in, because there are few in the house, the 
roads being so bad now, except men, and they 
don’t come into the sitting-room much. But 
you most come up to bed at ten o’clock. Re- 
member that.” 

“ I ’ll not forget,” promised Hetty, laughing 
and blushing. 

John accepted the conditions with sincere 
thanks, and did not attempt to trespass upon the 
time-limit that had been set. But he took every 
minute of his allowance, until the clock was act- 
ually striking ten, and in that long, uninterrupted 
happy talk, the young couple settled thoroughly 
their future, for at least a very considerable dis- 
tance ahead— quite forgetting that lovers’ plans, 
like dreams, are most liable to “ go by contra- 


170 


OUR HETTY. 


ries,” as the day not yet done might well have 
illustrated to them. Primarily, they would be 
married early in the forenoon and go straight to 
John’s mother’s house, where they would live 
until he had fixed up the old “ Duncan home- 
stead ” — which was John’s by inheritance — for 
their own home. It would need a new roof, a 
new spring-house would be required, and a good 
deal would have to be done to the barn ; all of 
which could be completed by time for starting 
the garden in the spring. They had settled 
what stock would have to be bought and had 
under discussion enlargement of the orchard — 
when the clock struck ten. 

“I declare!” exclaimed Hetty, standing up, 
“ if we haven’t sat here all evening talking over 
things like a couple of old married folks, and 
not said ten words about love.” 

“ It don’t seem to me as if there was anything 
else in it at all,” answered John, tenderly, ris- 
ing and putting his big arm about her waist. 
“ Haven’t we been busy planning a home for 
Love himself ?” 

“ But, before I leave you and run up to Mrs. 
Robinson, you might, just once, tell me how 
much you love me.” 

“ I couldn’t tell you that, Hetty, if I put all 
night into trying. It will take me the rest of 
my life to show you how much I love you.” 

“ Darling, you have told me already !” 

They were standing near the door. He 


NOW, OR IN THE FUTURE ? 


171 


pressed her close to his breast, kissing her pas- 
sionately, again and again, whispering reluc- 
tantly between the kisses: 

“ Good night, love ; good night.” 

As he relaxed his hold upon her and straight- 
ened himself up, she suddenly flung an arm 
about his neck, drew his head down so that her 
lips touched one of his ears, and whispered: 

“ I love you, John.” 

Then, with a celerity that dazed him, she bit 
his ear, kissed his lips, sprang out of his arms, 
darted through the door and vanished. The 
bite was sharp, and the kiss sweet ; and which 
came first he could not have told for the life of 
him. 




CHAPTER XVII. 

UNCLE daw’s advice. 

John Cameron was up before the sun, the next 
morning, only to learn, to his great disgust, that 
it would not be practicable to get a marriage 
license before nine o’clock. Hitherto, he had 
cared nothing for politics, but now he saw an 
imperative need fOr Reform — with a big R — one 
so great as to be worth fighting for at the polls. 
It was shameful, outrageous — he said to him- 
self — that the sloth of a public servant, a mere 
clerk, should be permitted to keep up the bars 
on the road to Hymen until so preposterous an 
hour. Marriage licenses should be procurable 
at daybreak. It would do no harm if the clerk’s 
office were kept open all night, like the watch- 
houses, and would doubtless be a great conven- 
ience for citizens. He wondered if he could not 
get the assemblyman from his district to intro- 
duce in the legislature a bill to that effect. And 
hours later, when he realized that what had been 
at the first seeming but an annoying delay, had 
[172] 


tiNCLE DAVYDS ADVICE. 


173 


through the evolution of consequent events, 
developed into overwhelming disaster to his 
most cherished plans, his rage grew with his 
knowledge, and he swore by the Devil’s* Back- 
bone that never would he vote for a candidate 
unpledged to antagonism to that exasperating 
and baneful system of restricting the issuance of 
marriage licenses to the hours between nine 
A. M. and four P. M. Well, why not? Have not 
party “platforms” contained less desirable 
“ planks,” and has not every American citizen 
an inherent right to construct a plank for himself 
and to jam it into a platform, too, if he can get 
help enough to do so? 

“ Now that thee has thy license, John,” said 
Landlord Robinson to him, “ there is but one 
minister in Pittsburg who should marry thee, 
and that is the Rev. Mr. Laidlaw. He filled the 
pulpit at Candor eleven years ago ; is a brother- 
in-law of the Rev. Mr. McLeod, the present 
incumbent — who got the best of me once in a 
horse trade, even if he is a minister of the gospel, 
and I give him credit for it as I do any man who 
is smart enough to best me in a dicker — and is 
personally known to everybody in the northern 
half and middle of Washington County. Believe 
me, John, thoq canst not take too many precau- 
tions in this matter. Forget it not, that a Cam- 
eron is wedding a Mulveil, and instead of its 
being an occasion to fan the flame of the old 
feud, it should bring about peace and good will. 


174 


OUR HETTY. 


Which it doth, dependeth in greatest measure 
upon thee." 

“ I don’t see how." 

“ Through the degree of respect thou showest, 
by every detail of thy marriage, for the Mulveil 
thou hast chosen to take to wife. Do nought 
that an enemy might construe into a slight or 
even a thoughtless lack of consideration for her." 

Mrs. Robinson used like arguments with 
Hetty, until the young couple began imagining 
that a marriage celebrated by anybody else than 
the Rev. Mr. Laidlaw would be no marriage at 
all worthy of the name, and John went in haste 
to secure at once the services of that necessary 
functionary. Alas, for the hours lost in getting 
the license ! The minister’s wife said that her 
husband had, about nine o’clock that morning, 
gone over to Alleghany to confer with some 
ministerial brother over something they proposed 
to bring before the next presbytery,^ and he was 
not at all likely to return before dark. But by 
six o’clock they would certainly find him at 
home. Could they not wait until then? 
“ Wait !’’ Oh, yes, John could wait and would, 
if it were absolutely necessar3% until evening, 
but no more. He said to himself that he would 
see Mr. Laidlaw and the whol^ presbytery in 
Halifax before he would wait until the next day. 

The weather was altogether too vilely bad for 
any sight-seeing, to kill time with ; and, indeed, 
there was not much worth seeing in the town in 


UNCLE DAVY S ADVICE. 


175 


those days; certainly nothing so attractive for 
John and Hetty as sitting together before the 
glowing fire in the cosy sitting-room of the 
Farmer’s Inn, building their castles in the air. 
They took up that delightful occupation just 
about where they had left off the night before, 
and the enchanted land of their mutual dream 
was far from the dulF, cold, gray reality of driv- 
ing rain and howling wind and plashing mud 
beneath frowning leaden skies. With his arm 
about her waist, her head upon his shoulder 
and their voices murmuring low and tenderly, 
their souls floated in unison through a realm 
warmed and illumined by the roseate sun of 
love. 

Furnishing the castle in the air was now the 
order of business. John rather though they 
would not “ need to buy a single stick.” The 
great loft of the old homestead was literally filled 
with bedsteads, tables, chairs, chests of drawers, 
and such like stuff, the accumulations of three or 
four generations of systematic gatherers ; and it 
was no common, cheap furniture, but solid 
mahogany ; old-fashioned, perhaps, but none the 
less serviceable. 

“ But, will your mother consent to our taking 
what we want ?” 

She would gladly give us as much more for 
taking it away out of her road. But come to 
think of it, there is one thing that I don’t recall 
seeing up there.” 


no 


OUR HETTY. 


“ What, John ?” 

“ No,’' he pursued, musingly, “ I don’t think 
there is one there ; and we ’ll be sure to want 
it.” 

“ But what is it, John.” 

“ A cradle.” 

She boxed his ears, and he punished her with 
a kiss. Neither of them noticed the door opening 
behind them, and both started to their feet sur- 
prised, red and confused, as a duet of exclama- 
tions burst upon their ears. One, in a big, deep, 
masculine voice, was simply : “ Gosh !” The 
other, sharply, shrilly feminine, was: “ Sakes 
alive !” 

Uncle David Henderson and Miss Mary Elder 
confronted the lovers. 

“ Why, Mehitable Mulveil !” continued the 
spinster, excitedly. “ How on earth did you 
come here ?” 

“ In John’s cutter, Mary,” answered the girl, 
demurely, with a roguish little smile. 

“Are you married yet?” demanded Uncle 
David. 

“ No ; not yet,” replied John. 

Uncle David frowned severely. 

“ How do you come to be here ?” Hetty asked 
her friend. 

“ I had a lot of dry-goods and fixin’s to get, 
and as Uncle David was coming to town to-day 
with his big sleigh, he kindly brought me along.” 

“Are you married yet?” demanded John, 


UNCLE Davy’s advtce. 


177 


gravely, with a very good imitation of the older 
man’s sternly magisterial manner. 

Uncle David fairly jumped in surprise. Mary 
gasped : “ Why, John Cameron !” And then 
there was a general roar of laughter. 

“ Come,” said Uncle David, in a tone of remon- 
strance, interrupting the hilarity, “ this is no 
laughing matter. You children may think it is 
quite a joke, but before you get through you 
will find it a very serious piece of business, I am 
afraid.” 

“ How did you leave mother ?” Hetty inquired 
of Mary. 

“ Madder than a wildcat, still. She missed 
you before you were gone ten minutes, I guess, 
and, just as quick as she could, .got Simeon and 
his man Rufus out after you. They had not got 
back when I left this morning, and seeing you 
here, I don’t suppose they have caught you yet. 
Your mother, instead of cooling off, seemed to 
be getting hotter every hour that passed, and, 
indeed, 1 was glad of a good excuse to get 
away.” 

Uncle David beckoned John to accompany 
him, and the two men left the room together. 
Outside, in the inn-yard, after looking carefully 
around to assure himself that he would not be 
overheard, the giant whispered hoarsely : 

“No, they haven’t come back. And they 
never will.” 

“ Never will ! What do you mean ?” 


178 


OUR HETTY. 


“Just what I say, my boy; and I’m much 
afeared it will make the old grudge between the 
Mulveils and the Camerons worse than ever.” 

“ I don’t see why they shouldn’t return when 
they haven’t found us.” 

“ Dead men don’t come back.” 

“Dead men?” 

“That’s what 1 said. You don’t know any- 
thing of what has been going on, do you ? Of 
course not. There was nothing in the world, 
and nothing was going on, but you and Hetty. 
Well, 1 ’ll tell you something that may shake 
that notion. The ice in the river broke up last 
night. I suppose you know that much?” 

“ No. How should I ? I crossed on it yester- 
day.” 

“ Yes. I came over to-day on the horse ferry- 
boat that is running again. On the way over, 
one of the men working on the boat told me 
about a two-horse sleigh and two men break- 
ing through the ice yesterday. From his des- 
cription of the team and the men, I believe that 
was the last of Sim Mulveil and Rufe Goldie.” 

“ If so, I ’m sorry for them, but I don’t see how 
I am responsible for their fate, as you seem to 
think, by the way you look at me.” 

“ If you hadn’t run off with Hetty Mulveil, it 
wouldn’t have happened.” 

“ Oh, if it comes to that, I ’d run Hetty off 
and marry her if the Monongahela River were 
plugged with Mulveils on account of it.” 


UNCLE Davy’s advice. 


179 


“ Marry her eventually, yes. That ’s all right 
enough. But so long as that irrevocable step 
has not been taken already, if you will be advised 
by me, John, you will postpone it a little while, 
until this thing sort of blows over, and it will not 
be so likely to cause bitterness of feeling, as it 
would now.” 

Why, Uncle Davy, I ’m not to blame for 
what has happened to those two chaps — if it 
really was they who were drowned. I didn’t 
invite them to follow me.” 

“That’s all very true, John; but you know 
what the Mulveils are: They feel, but they 
don’t reason. When a man marries, it behooves 
him to do all in his power for a peaceful life, for 
the sake of his family if not for his own comfort. 
Just think what a time Hetty would have of it if 
all her breed were to be pecking and clawing at 
her every time your back was turned.” 

“ But, say, maybe the chaps who were 
drowned were not Sim and Rufe, after all.” 

“We can settle that soon enough. The man 
on the ferryboat said that one of. them had been 
dragged out of the eddy below the Point and 
taken to Hunger’s iron-sheds — wherever that 
may be — for the coroner to sit on him. The 
thing for us to do is to go and see if I ’m right in 
suspicioning what I do. The coroner may sit on 
it or it may sit on the coroner, for all I care.” 

“ All right. Come along ! Does Mary Elder 
know about what you ’ve told me?” 


180 


OUR HETTY. 


“ Not a word, as yet.” 

By the time the two men found Munger’s 
sheds, the coroner had arrived, impaneled a jury 
and commenced the inquest. The body was 
stretched out on a board, supported by a couple 
of trestles. Its face was of a ghastly, bluish- 
white tint ; its clothing saturated, disarranged 
and spongy-looking. The board was so narrow 
that to keep both feet on it, the legs had been 
jauntily crossed and tied in place with a bit of 
rope. The arms hung down, with the knuckles 
lying in the mud on each side, and the thumbs 
pressed tightly into the palms of the hands. The 
eyes were half-open and the jaw dropped. 

There were no seats for the jury, so they 
stood about that extemporized bier, and, though 
wrapped in their great-coats, shivered. The wet 
corpse seemed to diffuse a chill, and the air was 
certainly made colder by the presence of many 
tons of round, square and flat iron bars, standing 
on end in great piles all around the walls. All 
the light in the place came from the big square 
door, against which the misty, whitish-brown 
day seemed to lean sullenly. 

One witness told the story of how he pulled 
the body, with a boat-hook, out of the eddy. 
Another recognized the body as that of one of 
the two travellers who had scorned his advice 
and consequently drowned within his sight. The 
third witness. Uncle David Henderson, told 
whose the body was. It was Rufus Goldie’s. 


UNCLE DAVY 8 ADVICE. 


181 


He knew him w’ell and was positive in the iden- 
tification. One of the jurymen asked him if he 
knew anything of the. circumstances leading to 
the drowning, especially if the man Goldie was 
intoxicated. He replied : 

“I have not seen him before to-day for a 
month, I believe ; did not know he was coming 
into town ; and his drowning occurred yesterday, 
as I am told, while I did not arrive until this 
afternoon.” 

The Canny Scot had told exact truth, but at 
the same time adhered to his resolution that 
John’s love affair should not- be mixed up with, 
the death of a Mulveil any sooner than was 
unavoidable. As for the inquiring juryman, he 
innocently supposed that his question had been 
answered. John did not feel called upon to say 
anything. 

On the way back to the inn, Uncle David 
continued to urge upon John even more strongly 
than before the imperative necessity for post- 
poning the marriage, but the young man was in 
no humor to be convinced. 

“ Just wait until the row blows over,” pleaded 
the giant, “ and then come back and marry right 
there. I don’t like the idea of a Cameron run- 
ning away to get married, anyhow.” 

“ The difficulties in the way will ahvaysbethe 
same.- You’ve no idea how bitter the old woman 
is against me. Why, she has even threatened to 
scald me.” 


182 


OUR HETTY. 


“ What of it? The hotter a woman flares up, 
the sooner her fire is burned out. The louder 
and harder she cackles, the sooner she will get 
tired and be quiet. 1 ’ll pledge you my word, 
John, that if you ’ll wait now and only come back 
when 1 send for you, you shall have Hetty then 
and marry her in public, even if fifty Camerons 
with their rifles have to stand around you — and 
I ’ll engage to keep the old woman off with an 
umbrella, myself.” 

“ A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush.” 

But when the tragic end of the pursuers was 
told to the girls at the inn, Uncle David found 
an ally in Mary Elder. 

“ If you go back married, now,” she said to 
Hetty, “ the very success of your running away 
will sting those who don’t like John, and all the 
Mulveils will blame you and him for what has 
happened to Sim and Rufe. But if you wait 
awhile, folks will begin to talk around that it 
was a sort of judgment on Sim and Rufe, and 
that they deserved on general principles, what 
they got; which is no doubt quite true. Then 
it will be safe enough for John to come back 
without any trouble occurring, and your mother 
will naturally have to give in. She can’t hold 
out long.” 

Hetty reluctantly and ruefully admitted that 
Mary was right and assented to the postpone- 
ment, but John resisted stoutly for a long time, 
arguing that it would look cowardly to go so 


UNCLE Davy’s advice. 


183 


far and stop short. At length, when Hetty not 
only succumbed to the pressure but even dem- 
onstrated some satisfaction with the new ar- 
rangement, as it seemed to him, he was bitterly 
piqued and suddenly ceased all opposition. 

^‘Do as you like,” he said. When you make 
up your mind that you want me, you can send 
for me, and if 1 ain’t too busy, I suppose 1 ’ll 
come.” 

“ Oh, John ! How. can I leave you all alone 
here ?” 

Don’t mind about me — I ’ll be all right. 
Maybe I ’ll like city life when I get used to it. 
But, no odds about me ; you do as Uncle David 
says — and be derned to him.” 

You know I don’t want to, John ; only it 
seems like I ought to ; and if it had been right 
we should get married now, maybe things 
wouldn’t have stood in the way so. And — and 
— you oughtn’t to be so cross with me, John.” 

“ There, there, darling, don’t cry !” said the 
big fellow, taking her in his arms caressingly 
and soothing her by the kindness of his tones, as 
she hid her face on his breast. “ I ’m not cross 
with you ; 1 ’m not mad at you, dear. Only it ’s 
a derned sight out of the way from what I had 
made up my mind for, and I wish to thunder you 
hadn’t come to town. Uncle David.” 



CHAPTER XVIII. 

A DISCOVERY IN PITTSBURG. 

John’s dislike for the new programme grew 
during the night, so that by the time morning 
came, had Hetty given him the slightest encour- 
agement, he would have revolted against Uncle 
David’s authority and become a married man 
before breakfast. But Mary Elder, who really 
had much confidence in Uncle David’s judg- 
ment and took care he should observe she had, 
shared the girl’s bed and was successful in deep- 
ening the impression already made upon her in 
favor of a postponement of the marriage. 

“ It ain’t the way 1 want it, any more than it ’s 
the way you want it, John,” she said, in consul- 
tation with her lover, “ but I guess it ’s for the 
best. We are young and can afford to wait a 
little while, anyway.” 

“There’s always risk in waiting!” growled 
John. 

[184] 


A DISCOVERY IN PITTSBURG. 


185 


Not for us. All the horses ain’t going to die 
nor the roads to be built up. And when 1 say 
1 ’ll wait for you, John, I mean it. I don’t care 
what mother or anybody else says. There ’ll be 
nobody for me but you, John, if I have to wait 
for you until Raccoon Creek runs across the 
top of the Devil’s Backbone!” 

“ I ’ll make a* heap of excitement in Washing- 
ton County before 1 ’ll stand any such waiting as 
that!” answered John, grimly. 

But the matter was settled for the time being, 
and, recognizing that fact, he accepted it as 
philosophically as he could, even — through a 
remnant of pique — assuming a cheerfulness that 
he was far from feeling, as he saw Hetty carried 
away by Uncle David and Mary. 

For a few days, the country lad, thus left to 
himself among the ashes of his hopes, felt miser- 
ably lonely and could not shake off an impression 
that the part he had played was not one to be 
proud of. To be sure the landlord said he had 
done quite rightly, but there was a twinkle in the 
old fellow’s eyes and a lurking smile on his fat 
lips that said he would not have acted so. And 
he imagined that Mistress Betsy, too, though she 
went so far as to pronounce his conducU‘ noble ” 
and “ prudent,” wore a smile of contemptuous 
pity most exasperating to him. He felt that he 
could not stand well in his own estimation ; for 
the plain, unvarnished fact of the case was that, 
after carrying off triumphantly the girl he loved 


186 


OUR HETTY. 


and who loved him, he had permitted himself to 
be talked out of his prize. Decidedly, he said 
to himself, he deserved to be jeered and laughed 
at, but he would break the nose of the first man 
who gave him that desert. The atmosphere of 
the Farmers’ Inn became unendurable to him, 
and he hunted up a lodging elsewhere, beyond 
the probability of encounter with any who knew 
him. 

He found this secluded haven in Temperance- 
ville, the then charming little suburb covering 
the side-hill and extending down into the valley 
south of Saw-mill Run, below South Pittsburg. 
Most of that territory, now covered by great, 
grimy, roaring factories, mills and crowded tene- 
ments, was then dotted over with pretty cot- 
tages and white frame-buildings, two or three 
stories high, embowered amid trees and vines 
and surrounded by gardens, glorious in the 
summer-time with their brilliant and fragrant 
wealth of flowers. The people of Temperance- 
ville were rich only in health and children, for it 
was a laboring population ; but the conditions of 
labor, infinitely better then than they have since 
become, did not involve privation and squalor 
as inevitable concomitants. Happy content was 
visible everywhere, in the tasteful, comfortable 
homes ; the stalwart, independent-looking men 
upon the streets; the plump, good-looking 
matrons and the chubby little folks who fairly 
swarmed in the place. John felt better when he 


A DISCOVERY IN PITTSBURG. 


187 


had found a domicile over there, among entire 
strangers. At least, the Monongahela River no 
longer rolled between him and Hetty ; he was 
on the road that led to home and her. 

To kill time while awaiting Uncle David’s 
message of recall — honestly keeping the promise 
that he most bitterly regretted having made — 
he formed a habit of haunting the great iron 
mills and glass-works near the mouth of the Run 
and along the narrow strip of available ground 
between Coal Hill and the River. Insensibly 
that atmosphere, pulsating with energy and 
thrilling with the operation of tremendous 
forces all about him, awoke in the young man 
new ideas and comprehensions of life, stirring 
him first with awe, then with curiosity and 
finally with a burning desire to bear an active 
part in that mighty vibration. The machinery’s 
rumbling roar filling the air, the quivering of 
the solid earth beneath his feet, the vivid bursts 
of colored flame that dazzled his sight, the earn- 
est, purposeful activity of the muscular toilers 
who jostled him — all together had for him an 
indescribable fascination. This, he knew, was 
more truly man’s work than any he had known 
before. 

One day he accidentally learned that the daily 
wages of a puddler were more than the weekly 
earnings of a skillful harvester. The embers of 
Scotch thrift latent in him began to glow. He 
wished to be a puddler. What did the puddler 


188 


OUB HETTY. 


do? He went to the mill and watched one 
critically. The chap he made a study of was a 
huge, muscular fellow, a very giant, with short 
curly hair, close- matted and dark with per- 
spiration; a neck like that of a bull; naked to 
the waist, showing thews and sinews like those 
of a gladiator. His eyes were red and his skin 
seemed baked to a light reddish brown. With 
his brawny legs braced wide apart, the big 
muscles of his arms, shoulders and back knotting, 
extending and writhing like serpents in motion, 
he busied himself doing something with a long 
iron bar thrust through a hole in an iron door. 

John tried to look into the hole, but could see 
only an intense white light, that seemed to dry 
his eyeballs and left a cherry-red spot in his 
vision, wherever he looked, for several minutes 
afterward. But the giant saw clearly what he 
was doing with his iron bar in there. His trained 
sight could distinguish nice gradations of color 
in that apparently incandescent glow. Presently 
he uttered a sharp word of warning, at hearing 
which his helper, standing near and, like him, 
naked to the waist, sprang under a heavy stream 
of water flowing constantly from an open pipe 
higher than his head, was drenched in an instant 
and jumped back to his place. Then the pud- 
dler shouted another word ; there was a rattle 
of chains, a skreek and clash of metal, and where 
the whole had been yawned a wide opening into 


A DISCOVERY IN PITTSBURG. 


189 


the fiercely glowing chamber where molten iron 
boiled like water in a pot. 

John knew that was what was in there, but 
could no more see it than he could distinguish 
objects upon the sun’s surface at high noon. But 
the puddler did not appear to mind the dazzling 
glare. Quickly stepping backward, he withdrew 
from the furnace-front the iron bar he had been 
manipulating, with a great ball of iron, in a plas- 
tic state, adhering to the end. That ball, larger 
than his head, looked to John like a chunk of the 
sun. 

The helper, by the aid of tongs pendent from 
a “ traveller ” in the semi-blackness far overhead, 
seized the candent mass and ran with it before 
him, like a small comet of which he was the tail, 
or the true phlogiston, away across the mill to 
the “ crusher.” The furnace-door closed auto- 
matically with a clang, leaving only a pencil of 
white light darting out of a little hole in its 
center and stabbing like a blade through the 
murk of the mill ; and the puddler, leaping 
under the falling stream of water, spread his big 
arms and threw back his head to let the crystal 
flood dash upon his upturned face and broad, 
hairy breast. Steam went up from him as if he 
had been red-hot. 

John had some doubt as to whether his eyes 
would stand such cooking as the puddler’s got, 
but apart from that, the work pleased him, and 
he resolved to master it. Whether he would 


190 


OUR HETTY. 


continue at it an hour after he received his sum- 
mons of recall, was quite another matter. It 
would be absurd that he, already the owner of 
two fine farms and prospective heir to a third, 
larger and better that both of them, should 
acquire a permanent habit of puddling iron for 
day’s wages during the rest of his life, but what 
better or more manly occupation could he find 
while divorced from his farms? None, surely. 
So he found employment as a helper with a 
good-natured giant, whose willingly given in- 
struction and his own natural aptitude for learn- 
ing, speedily put him in possession of the merely 
mechanical trick of puddling, and opened his 
eyes to the seriousness of an attempt to mas- 
ter a real knowledge of this delicate scientific 
process. 

Half a dozen workers in iron and glass boarded 
in the same house with John Cameron. They 
were generally rough fellows, honest enough but 
coarse, and instinctively appreciative of the fact 
that he was not really one of them. Consequent- 
ly they rather held aloof from him. There was 
one, however, a glass-blower, known as “ Billy 
the Barker,” with whom his sympathetic pity 
brought him upon terms of more intimacy. 
Billy was a lean, under-sized, hollow-cheeked 
chap, past middle-age, weak and shy, upon whom 
^ consumption had set the seal of doom. He had 
frequent violent and protracted spells of cough- 
ing, and was unable to work more than one or 


A DISCOVERY IN PriTSBURG. 


191 


two days in the week usually, so he was desti- 
tute, wretched and tired of life. 

One night, John returning home very late 
from work, found Billy seated on the well-cover 
in the garden, with his lean arms twined about 
his knees, and shivering. 

“ Hello !” exclaimed the young man. “ What 
are you doing here ? Don’t you know that with 
such a cough as yours, you shouldn’t be out in 
this damp night air?” 

” I know I shouldn’t, but there 's no choice for 
me. I ’m sort of shy about having heavy boots 
chucked at my head.” 

“ What do you mean ?” 

There are four of us in the room where I 
have a bed. My three companions close the 
windows and smoke pipes until all is blue. That 
sets me coughing, and if I cannot stop when 
they want to go to sleep, they run me out.” 

“ How do they run you out ?”• 

“ Chucking their hob-nailed boots at my head.” 

‘‘ How often does this happen ?” 

“ Pretty nearly every night.” 

And do you stay out all night, so that they 
may sleep ?” 

“ Well, hardly ever a// night, sir. When 
they ’re sound asleep to’rds morning, I slip in. 
But to-night Jem Hodges has been drinking and 
is ugly, and he swears he ’ll break my neck if I 
show my face before daylight.” 

“ Do you think he would ?” 


192 


OUR HETTY. 


“ I haven’t the slightest doubt of it, sir.” 

“ 1 have. Come right up now and let ’s see.” 

“ Oh, no, indeed, sir ! I don’t dare.” 

“If you don’t. I’ll spank you myself. The 
idea of your being turned out at the whim of a 
drunken bully ! Come on ! I ’ll see that he 
doesn’t harm you.” 

Billy obeyed tremblingly. 

Jem waked the instant they crossed the thres- 
hold of the room and swore a mighty oath to 
“do” Billy if he did not instantly vanish. 

“ No,” said John, seizing the little man’s collar 
as he turned to flee, “this is no night for a man 
with a cough like his to be out, and he is going 
to bed.” 

“ Hexcuse me,” responded Jem, with a mock- 
ing affectation of courtesy, “ but Hi suppose you 
’av’n’t been hinformed has Hi said has ’ow ’e was 
to git hout.” 

“ Oh, yes. But that don’t make any differ- 
ence.” 

Jem was for a few moments literally paralyzed 
with astonishment, and the other two men in 
their beds sat up and stared in silence, aghast at 
such audacity. 

“ D’ ye know who Hi ham ?” roared Jem, when 
he recovered his breath. 

“ No ! And don’t care !” 

“Oho! You don’t? Well, Hi ’m the Liver- 
pool Terror — Hi ham ; hand Hi’il make you 
care !” 


A DISCOVERY IN RITTSBURC. 


193 


As he spoke, he sprang out of bed and made a 
rush for the audacious American. Had the 
ensuing fight been conducted according to the 
rules of the London “prize-ring,” in which Jem 
had won some laurels, he would have been a 
very ugly antagonist for the untrained young 
farmer, with all the latter’s quickness, strength 
and courage. But in a “ rough and tumble,” 
John could hit twice to his once, and Jem soon 
had a lively experience of what has come to be 
technically known in latter days as “ cyclonic 
fighting.” 

His room-mates, highly delighted with this 
unexpected nocturnal entertainment, conducted 
themselves as critical spectators, encouraging and 
criticising the combatants as occasion seemed to 
invite. 

“’E’s bestin’ thee, lad,” said one of them. 

“Hi ’ll break ’im hin two!” howled Jem, only 
to be on the instant himself floored. 

“ Hast no license to break yon chap in two,” 
commented one of his friends, dryly. 

“ Looks like thou’d get broke thysel’,” added 
the other. 

Jem had no spare breath for further idle speech. 
Billy made himself as small as possible in an 
angle of the wall and stared in anxious terror. 
It was not long until Jem was caught in a 
wrestling “ lock ” of his own seeking and thrown 
with such violence that for a moment he was 
stunned. When he regained his senses, he found 


194 


OUR HETTY. 


his nose flattened on the floor, John’s knee upon 
his neck, and one of his arms twisted up on his 
back, in John’s grasp, so that a very little tug 
upon it gave him excruciating pain. 

“Can Billy go to bed now and stay there 
undisturbed?” John asked. 

Jem was sullenly silent until his arm was 
twitched. Then, with profane emphasis, he re- 
plied that Billy might, and so far as he was con- 
cerned, stay there until the judgment-day. 
Thereupon John let him up, and peace reigned 
again. 

“ Blow me hif you hain’t ha good un, young 
feller,” growled the defeated “Liverpool Ter- 
ror” in the surly but sincere recognition of gen- 
ius that his own professional standing among 
“the fancy” demanded. 

From that time on, Billy never needed a pro- 
tector again, but his gratitude seemed to inspire 
in him an almost dog-like affection for and attach- 
ment to the strong young American who had 
come so opportunely to his aid. And John took 
the interest in him that men almost always get to 
feel in the weaker things they help and shield. 

“ Of course,” said Billy, “ I can never do any- 
thing to return your kindness. I 'm no good 
any more. But I wasn’t always so. Glass-blow- 
ing has done me up, as it did my father before 
me. It just takes the lungs out of us, especially 
such as work on window-glass, and that ’s my 
line. When it first caught me, about five years 


A DISCOVERY IN PITTSBURG. 


195 


ago, I couldn’t believe it, I had always been so 
well. But my children were always sickly. 1 
thought it was the damp climate of England 
that ailed me, so I came here. Maybe it would 
have helped me if I had come sooner ; but I had 
waited too long. I kept getting worse. The 
doctor said if I went on glass-blowing it would 
soon kill me. Still I stuck to it, for I could earn 
good wages when I was able to work, and 1 
wanted to get enough together to bring over 
my wife and children — only two left, the last of 
five. At last, I had to give up ; but J knew 
nothing else to do, and wasn’t strong enough for 
much. 1 went to peddling books — religious 
books — but could scarcely live at it, to say 
nothing of sending money home. So every time 
I got a little better, out on the road in the open 
air, I would go back to the glass-works, and 
when they had used me up, I took to the road 
again. It was all ups and downs, but each up 
was less high than the one before, and each down 
was lower. Still I hung on to my hope and 
earned wages every time I was strong enough 
to stand on the plank until about eight months 
ago when I got a letter that told me my wife 
was dead of typhoid, and my children — little 
Mabel, only three years old, and the baby — were 
taken by the parish. Oh, how I did pray for 
strength to earn money to bring them to me. I 
felt as if I could steal, almost kill, for that. But 
praying did no good. My lungs were never 


196 


OUR HETTY. 


worse than then. The next I heard, the children 
were dead, the baby first and then my sweet 
little Mabel. Well, they ’re better off, and no 
farther from me now than they were before, 
maybe nearer ; but — O God, how lonely I feel !” 

Such confidences naturally provoked a return 
from John, and he told the story of how he came 
to be in Temperanceville, beginning with his 
falling in love with Hetty Mulveil up on the 
Devil’s Backbone. The narration seemed to 
have much interest for Billy, who asked many 
questions concerning its incidents, particularly 
those connected with the adventure on the cliff. 
Partly through his apparent intuition and in part 
by a revivification in John’s mind of the half- 
forgotten occurrences of that memorable Train- 
ing-Day conflict, the two men together arrived 
at a pretty accurate understanding of previously 
unrecognized facts. John comprehended that 
in some way Constable Sim Mulveil had attained 
the knowledge that those silver spoons found on 
the cliff were stolen, and had actually dared to 
suspect him — a Cameron ! — of being the thief, 
and had sought to arrest him as such. The 
thought made John’s blood boil with indignant 
anger, and for the first time he sincerely 
regretted that Sim was drowned and beyond his 
reach. Rufus Goldie, he recalled, had denounced 
him as a “ thief !” So long as he had considered 
that epithet merely a provocative for a fight, it 
had made no serious impression upon him ; but 


A DISCOVERY IN PITTSBURG. 


197 


now that he felt Goldie meant it, he was as wild 
with rage as if it had just been uttered. And 
Goldie drowned, too ! It was very hard. 

The reflection suggested itself to him that 
Simeon, if really intending to arrest him, must 
have had a warrant, and that warrant was still in 
existence, liable to be used against him any time. 
The death of an officer does not stop the wheels 
of the law. Even if it were never served, the 
squire who issued it must know of it and would 
tell others about it. Clearly, it was necessary 
for him to go home at once and clear things up. 
So he straightway sat him down and wrote to 
Uncle David, detailing the facts, demanding his 
promise back, declaring that he must and would 
come home, whether or no, and that in three 
days he would follow his letter, “ Hetty or no 
Hetty.” 


CHAPTER XIX. 


HOME AGAIN. 

John did not really mean that ** Hetty or no 
Hetty.” The possibility of “ no Hetty ” had 
not entered his mind at all. He just meant the 
words as an expression of extremest emphasis ; 
and on the third day after writing that letter he 
set out, as he had declared he would, for home. 
As he had sold his horse and cutter before leav- 
ing the Farmers’ Inn, it was necessary for him 
to make the journey on foot ; but he cared noth- 
ing for that. A twenty-five mile walk, in such 
fine weather, was nothing to him. 

He would have liked to bid farewell to poor 
Billy the Barker, but Billy had mysteriously dis- 
appeared, and it was the opinion of the woman 
who kept the boarding-house that he had gone 
into the river, as he had often threatened to. 
All John could do was to leave his address, to 
be given to the man, if he ever returned, and 
with it a message that if he would come out to 
the Cameron farm he might stay there until he 
got well, “ and it wouldn’t cost him a cent.” 

[198] 


HOME AGAIN. 


199 


It was upon one of the lovely days of early 
spring, when the dew was still upon the grass, 
that John turned his back upon Temperanceville. 
At the top of the first high hill he turned and 
gazed upon the city. The golden light of the 
sun, passing through the low-hanging dome of 
sooty clouds above it, took on a dull saffron tint, 
and the two rivers looked like tarnished silver. 
From tall chimneys everywhere columns of 
black smoke rose straight to the pall-like sky, as 
if supporting it. Here and there, in the bases 
of those columns, glowed tongues of flame, 
hardly perceptible now, but, as he well remem- 
bered, brilliant at night with their changing 
hues of blue and gold and crimson. Distant as 
he was, the roar of the mills reached his ears as 
a dull, unceasing growl. Step by step, as he 
moved backward from the crest of the hill, the 
city seemed to drop away from before him until 
it was all gone and only the black dome above it 
remained, growing hourly vaster in breadth and 
height. 

In late years, Pittsburg has won a temporary 
respite from her old conditions of grime and 
smudge and gloom through the utilization of 
natural gas instead of bituminous coal in her 
many thousands of fire-places. Her buildings 
are brighter, her air clearer and her people 
cleaner and perhaps happier by reason of the 
change ; but she has lost something of her former 
distinctive picturesqueness. 


200 


OUR HETTY. 


Five miles out of town, turning a bend in the 
road — around the corner of an old school-house 
famous for its complete covering of roses in the 
month of June — John met Uncle David Hender- 
son, in a light wagon and driving a double team 
at a spanking gait. After their first exclama- 
tions of mutual gratified surprise at the en- 
counter, the giant sat staring at his nephew, too 
much occupied with studying him to even think 
of asking him to get into the wagon. 

Why do you stare so at me, uncle?” asked 
John. 

You look so different from what you used to. 
Of course I knew you, the moment I saw you, 
but, John, you don’t look like the same boy !” 

“ I am older.” 

‘‘Only four months. ’T aint that. You have 
a different look. What have you been doing?” 

“ Working in a rolling-mill.” 

” Ah, that’s it! Jump in, and I’ll turn 
around.” 

” Don’t you want to go on into town ?” 

” No. I only came after you.” 

” So you did get my letter then, and never 
answered it.” 

“ Didn’t hey ? What do you call this ? Could 
I send a wagon and team by mail ? But I was 
coming for you anyway.” 

When the horses’ heads were turned fiome- 
ward. Uncle David again remarked upon the 
change in John’s appearance. 


HOME AGAIN. 


201 


“ Men’s looks,” he said, “ depend a good deal 
on how they live, their surroundings and their 
work. I ’ve always known that, but never ap- 
preciated it so much as I do now in seeing you. 
The young fellow who works on a farm in the 
peace and quiet there environing him, with the 
influence always pressing upon him of .Nature’s 
slow processes, which he cannot control but only 
help, unconsciously sinks into a tacit acceptance of 
a secondary place in the scale of being. The dor- 
mant seed, slow-growing tree and long-ripening 
harvest, all compel him to recognition of the law 
of patient submission to the invisible force that 
is operating at the same time and in the same 
way upon him and upon all things surrounding 
him. Nature masters him ; the seasons make 
him their slave ; it is more correct to say of him 
that he vegetates, than that he lives. 

“ But it is different with the man who governs 
and utilizes the mighty and swift-moving forces 
of the mill. He controls the fierce fires that 
melt the stubborn ore ; wields the tremendous 
machinery that shapes the unwilling metal to his 
desire ; nothing is too hard or too heavy for him ; 
the roar that fills his ears is a paean in praise of 
his genius and might ; nature submissively obeys 
his will, his pulses swell and thrill with the con- 
sciousness of power, and he bears himself erect 
with the dignity of masterhood. What does not 
the world of to-day owe to the men who make 
the iron ! They are the true kings of civilization. 


202 


OUR HKTTY. 


Practically, all that is fashioned, all that is done, 
all that is thought for the world’s progress to- 
day is rooted in their work. The first iron-worker 
was a god, and a god among gods, mind you. 
What would Jove’s thundering have amounted 
to if he had not had Vulcan to forge his thunder- 
bolts for him ?” 

“ Why, you surprise me, Uncle David. I had 
no idea you felt that way. How does it come 
that you never went into iron-working?” 

“ 1 hardly know myself. Sometimes it seems 
to me that in some dimly remembered, remote 
time, as if in a half-forgotten former life, I 
wrought iron. It is a curious fancy that comes 
to me, not in dreams, as you might suppose, but 
when I am all alone, wide awake, sitting still, 
letting my mind do its own thinking and not 
trying to control it at all. And it has come to 
me, too, when visiting an iron mill and seeing 
new and strange machinery, which 1 would at 
once comprehend the uses of, without explana- 
tion, and recognize as an improvement upon 
something 1 would vaguely remember as em- 
ployed for a like purpose in some shadowy, by- 
gone time, far back of the knowledge of Davy 
Henderson. It is strange that I aye contented 
me on a farm. And yet, on second thoughts, it 
isn’t. There are few men, I think, who would 
not fain be something else than what they are 
and fill some other place than that into which 
fate has thrust and keeps them. I guess, the 


HOME AGAIN. 


203 


much I Ve done in building has kept me content. 
Building is next to iron-making. The happiest 
days of my life, I believe, were those in which I 
was building that stone court-house; and the 
bigger the stone to be handled was, the better I 
liked the job. Gosh, lad, I 'd like to build with 
mountains ! But, eh, what an old dreamer I 'm 
getting to be ! Come ! Let 's talk of something 
else. What are you going to do?” 

“ I hn not very clear about anything beyond 
marrying Hetty and finding out if it ’s true that 
skunk, Sim Mulveil, had a warrant for me, and 
if so, what for.” 

‘‘Oho! So that is worrying you ? Well, some 
think he had, but more don’t believe it, and no- 
body pretends to say what it was for. Some- 
thing was said, on Training Day, about thieving, 
but it is understood, of course, that that was only 
to start the fight. The way Sim and Rufus came 
to their just and righteous end gives some color 
to the rumor that there was a warrant for you 
and Sim had it, for some of those cussed Mulveils 
have jumped, by sheer guesswork, to the fact 
that he and Rufe were drowned when chasing 
you.” 

“ And Hetty ?” 

“ No. The curious thing is that her elopement 
is not known to a soul in Washington County 
except her mother and yours, Mary Elder and 
me.” 

“ And Danny ?” 


204 


OUR HETTY. 


‘‘Well, I suppose that imp may have some 
idea of it, but it 's hardly likely, or he would 
have blabbed it, just for mischief." 

John smiled, thinking he knew Danny better, 
but did not feel called upon to defend him. 

“ But, to return to what 1 was saying, some 
of the Mulveils do have the idea I mentioned, 
and do sort of blame you. And it is just possible 
they may try to make things unpleasant for 
you on your return, just at first." 

“ Any Mulveil who desires trouble with me 
can have all he wants of it." 

“ I have no doubt, and it is just to avert any- 
thing of the sort, that I want matters a little my 
way just now. It is only by giving no oppor- 
tunities for the breaking out of that foolish old 
grudge, we can hope to ever get it extinguished. 
It is a disgrace to us as civilized men and Christ- 
ians that it should exist, and just see how it 
stands in the way of your own happiness." 

“ Well, what do you propose?" 

“ I will take you straight home, and I want 
you to stay there until I come for you to-mor- 
row morning. We will go to church together. 
It will be Communion Sabbath, and everybody 
will be there." 

“ I ’ll go to church with you. Uncle David, but 
I don’t feel like promising that I will stay at 
home until then." 

“ You want to go and see Hetty to-night. 
Now, be ruled by me this once, John, for your 


HOME AGAIN. 


205 


own good. Don’t go there to-night. It will 
only make trouble for you and Hetty. Do as I 
tell you, and I think I can promise you that 
before long when you go there you will receive 
a welcome. Take my advice, and stay at home 
to-night.” 

“Well ; I ’ll do it I ’ll wait until to-morrow. 
But understand, nothing holds me after church. 
I know myself too well now to promise what I 
will, or will not, do after I ’ve seen Hetty again.” 

“We ’ll try to make the treatment as light for 
you, John, as the nature of your case will per- 
mit.” 

Uncle David let his horses jog along at easy 
pace. They had already traversed the road 
once that day, having been started on it long 
before dawn, and the old man — one of whose 
favorite maxims was: “The merciful man is 
merciful unto his beast” — saw no occasion for 
hurrying their return. As it was, he had John 
home long before dark, and drove away to his 
own house, leaving the lad in his mother’s arms. 

Mrs. Cameron’s joy over the return of her son 
could hardly have been greater had he just got 
back from a three-year whaling voyage. Never 
until he ran away with Hetty had he spent a 
night from home, and a miserably lonely old 
woman she had felt herself during his seemingly 
interminable absence. He had only been gone 
four months, according to the almanac, but no 
calendar correctlj’’ marks the flight of time for 


206 


OTJR HETTY. 


those who love the absent. And really, she 
declared, he must have been gone much longer, 
for he had had time to grow bigger, stronger, 
more manly, graver, with a more assured 
manner and self-confident bearing than was his 
before. The imperceptible degrees by which he 
had grown up, day by day, under her eyes con- 
stantly, since his infancy, had somehow kept 
alive in her heart the fancy of looking upon her 
big boy as still her little child, until now this 
break had come in the habits of a lifetime, and it 
Avas with a startled, half-painful feeling that, 
looking upon this great, strong, self-reliant, 
purposeful-looking man, she missed her little 
child. It was only as she closed her eyes and 
listened to his voice that the sweet, long- 
cherished fancy came back to her. And even 
the voice, she imagined, had a firm, ringing tone 
that it did not use to have. She sighed. It 
would take a little time for her to grow accus- 
tomed to this new John. 

After supper, mother and son sat upon the 
doorstep, looking out on the garden, watching 
the swift martins in their graceful flights about 
the old house, to which they had but recently 
returned for the summer. Until now she had 
kept him talking about himself and what he had 
been doing when away from fler. Finally she 
said : 

“ Something very strange has happened here, 
John. Yesterday morning, the Reverend Mr. 


HOME AOAIN. 


207 


McLeod sent over a note, asking for the spoons 
and watch you found up on the ‘ Backbone.’ ” 

“ How did he know I ever found anything 
there?” 

“ That is more than 1 can tell you. All I 
know is that he asked for them ; and, more than 
that, he knew the initials on the spoons — ‘ R. W. 
B.’ — and the number in the watch.” 

” 1 suppose he has in some way found out the 
owner. You sent them to him, of course ?” 

Yes. I sent them all.” 

“ That was right.” 

” And he sent again to say would I please, 
when you came home, send you over, too.” 

“ Me ! Is there anything more he wants ?” 

“ I don’t know. But 1 shouldn’t be surprised 
if there were. The clergy are always great 
hands for asking, you know.” 

** Well, I ’ll meet him at church to-morrow, 
and see about it then.” 

“ Maybe.” 

“ Why do you say ‘ maybe,’ mother ?” 

I ’m thinking it ’s little you ’ll see or hear 
to-morrow but Hetty Mulveil.” 

“ I do want to see her, that ’s a fact, mother. 
I ’ve been away such a long time.” 

“ Don’t I know it, my boy ? Haven’t you 
been away from me for the first time in your 
life ? Oh, yes. I know it has been a long time.” 

“ Well, I won’t go away from home any more, 
for anybody or anything. I ’ll just marry Hetty, 


208 


OtJR HETTY. 


and settle down to become a regular old moss- 
back farmer.” 

“ Why do you speak that way, John, of what 
your father was — a farmer ?” 

He looked at her and hesitated. Should he 
tell her how he sympathized with his Uncle 
David’s admiration for the manly work of iron- 
making? The fascination it had for him? No. 
It would only make her uneasy, perhaps, with a 
fear that some day he might go away again to the 
mill. So he only laughed, and replied lightly : 

‘‘ Why, mother, don’t the rocks and trees and 
everything that stays long in one place get a 
coat of moss ? Can’t you imagine there is a sort 
of invisible but real moss creeping over us, too, 
when we keep quiet in one spot a good while ?” 

“ What a notion ! When are you going to 
marry Hetty?” 

“ The very first chance I can make after church 
to-morrow.” 

The old woman meditated in silence for a lit- 
tle while ; then, stroking his hair with an affec- 
tionate, caressing touch and suppressing a sigh, 
said gently : 

“ I shall have to be the best mother I can for 
both of you. Mrs. Mulveil isn’t reported as tak- 
ing any more kindly to the arrangement than 
she did when Hetty ran away with you.” 

“ Say, tell me, mother ; don’t you think I 
should have married her then ?” 

“ I do not presume to say, my boy. But I 


HOME AGAIN. 


209 


think, if your father had run off with me, there 
would have been a wedding before either of us 
got back.'’ 

John silently gritted his teeth. She went on : 

“ Mr. Roger McFarlane is said to be making 
very serious advances to the widow Mulveil. I 
suppose some folks will say such goings-on are 
shameful between two like them, who are at least 
old enough to know better, but for my part I 
do not see that it is anybody else’s business than 
their own. And I would be very glad of it if 
the effect should be, as it very well might, to 
soften her and give her something else to think 
about than crossing Hetty.” 

“ The old Scotchman would make her a really 
good husband, I have no doubt, and whatever 
influence he might have would certainly be used 
in my behalf.” 

“ I don’t question it ; and I don’t doubt Mrs. 
Mulveil would be quite a decent body herself if 
she could only be induced to forget that Hetty’s 
father was a Mulveil. I should think she ’d want 
to. A Mulveil, indeed ! Not that I have any- 
thing against the Mulveils myself. 1 ’m sure 
Hetty could not be any prettier, or better girl, 
whatever she might be. But — oh, dear! Ido 
wish sometimes, John, that she were a Cam- 
eron !” 

So do I, dear mother,” replied John, laugh- 
ingly, “ and I mean that she shall be, just as soon 
as possible.” 



CHAPTER XX. 

A GIANT IN LOGIC AND LOVE. 

Uncle David did not doubt John's good intent 
to keep his word about staying at home that 
evening. Nevertheless, he said to himself : 

“ Human nature is weak, and the temptation 
of love is strong. I had better stroll over there 
after supper and keep an eye on John for 
awhile.” 

That was, perhaps, all well enough ; but why 
should Uncle David — ordinarily so careless about 
his personal appearance — have taken so much 
trouble in combing and brushing his hair and 
beard, changing his coat for a better one and 
putting on a smart neck-tie ? He would hardly 
have done so much by way of preparation for 
attending a meeting of the elders or of the board 
of supervisors. 

John and his mother were still sitting in the 
door, when he put in an appearance before 
them, and at the farther end of the porch, in 
front of the new extension of the house. Miss 
[ 210 ] 


A GIANT IN LOGid AND LOVE. 


211 


Mary Elder occupied a rocking-chair, enjoying 
her evening rest after a busy day of work on 
Mrs. Cameron’s summer wardrobe. Seeing 
that the widow and her son were in earnest con- 
verse, the giant went up on the porch and seated 
himself near the spinster, with the most casual, 
unpremeditated and unconcerned manner he 
could assume, quite unconscious that behind 
him John w^as lifting his eyebrows with a look 
of surprised inquiry, to which Mrs. Cameron 
replied by a nod and knowing smile. 

In the commencement of their conversation, 
both Uncle David and Mary spoke with ordinary 
loudness, but gradually, when weather and health 
and the look of the wheat had been disposed of, 
their voices dropped so as to be audible only to 
each other. 

“You are working too hard. Miss Mary,” 
David said to her. “ If you keep on, the confine- 
ment and bending over your needle so steadily 
will affect your health and good looks.” 

“ You are very good to interest yourself in 
me, sir,” she replied hesitatingly, with an un- 
pleasant sense of constraint and awkwardness in 
encountering the novel experience of even an 
only implied compliment. 

“Oh, no. If we lone estrays from the domestic 
folds do not take an interest in each other’s wel- 
fare, we are likely to be overlooked and for- 
gotten altogether.” 

He spoke jocosely, but with a shade of earnest- 


212 


OtJK HETTY. 


ness in his tone, that Mary could not but be 
aware of. 

“ I ’m sure it would not be easy to overlook 
you,” she responded, smilingly. 

“ Perhaps * overlooked ’ is not just the word I 
should have used. I remember finding once, in 
the edge of the creek, a bottle containing a fish. 
The foolish creature seemed to have gone in 
there when small, and been unable to find its way 
out until it grew too large to do so. No doubt 
all the fishes that went by its transparent prison 
saw it, and possibly wondered why it staid there 
instead of joining in the general swim, assuming 
the responsibilities and discharging the social 
and domestic duties recognized in fish commun- 
ities. But the environment established for it by 
its own youthful folly had been too strong for it, 
until I came along, broke the bottle and restored 
it to its proper place among the multitude of its 
kind in the common pursuit of happiness and 
probable realization of pin-hooks.” 

“ Dear me !” said Mary, looking puzzled. 
** How very kind of you !” 

“ Occasionally,” he went on, “ I fancy myself 
like that bottled fish. I had chosen, or, at least, 
had accepted an environment that became a 
prison. In other words, I find myself a confirmed 
old bachelor.” 

“ Oh !” exclaimed Mary, smiling approval of 
the course he was manifestly heading. “ A 
bachelor, yes ; but not so very old.” 


A GIANT IN LOGIC AND LOVE. 


213 


“ ’M ; well, old enough to know better ; old 
enough to realize that no phase of human exist- 
ence is more selfish, useless and devoid of real 
happiness than that in which I have so long 
elected to live. Now, in all frankness, Mary, 
what good are you and I to the world, as we 
are? I may even ask: What good are we to 
ourselves, since, if we are no good to others, we 
cannot be to ourselves? Thanks to our indus- 
trious, frugal habits, the longer we live and go 
on as we are, the more property we will have 
accumulated by the time we are called upon to 
leave it. And we will leave behind all that we 
have lived for^leave it to those who, in a few 
years will have forgotten us. Our names will 
have been written in water.” 

“ I ’m sure I have heard of your doing many 
a kind action to the poor and unfortunate, Mr. 
Henderson.” 

** The proof that I have not done enough is 
that I still possess far more than I will ever have 
any personal need for.” 

“ I confess I never thought of it in that way. 
I have always tried to do what I felt my duty 
called me to, in the way of sending the gospel to 
the heathen and such like ; but a woman isn’t ex- 
pected to do much, you know, and 1 ’ve saved 
up a pretty snug sum, more, as you say, than I 
will ever have any personal need for.” 

“ I don’t doubt it ; and yet here you are work- 
ing away as hard as ever to get more, and drift- 


214 


OUR HETTT. 


ing around irom place to place, without a home 
you can call your own.” 

“And don’t you think I feel that? Oh, many 
a time, even where people have been as kind to 
me as if I were one of their own folks, I have 
cried myself to sleep over thinking how utterly 
alone I was.” 

“ I can understand your feeling very well. 
Isolation is infinitely more painful and harder to 
bear than solitude. I ’ve no doubt women may 
find relief from it in crying, but men can’t ; they 
are more likely to take refuge in reading, relig- 
ion or rum. 1 take most kindly to the first, 
tolerate the second and detest the third. Books 
have been family and friends to me all my life. 
Are you fond of books ?” 

“ Oh, yes, sir ! But I have not had much time 
to read.” 

“ What have you read ?” 

“Well — Fox’s ‘ Book of Martyrs * and * Char- 
lotte Temple ’ and ‘ The Scottish Chiefs ’ and the 
‘ Method of Grace ’ and the Seven Champions of 
Christendom ’ and — ” 

Uncle David made a grimace and interrupted 
her dryly : 

“ I see. A'charmingly systematic and improv- 
ing course. You need more time for reading, a 
home of your own to do your reading in, and 
somebody to look after what you read. And 1 
need somebody to brighten my home and be a 
new interest to me, superior to my books, of 


A GIANT IN LOGIC AND LOVE. 


215 


which 1 think 1 have had enough for a while. I 
want my bottle of bachelordom broken to let 
me out into the current where the rest of the 
fishes — who at least look happier — are swim- 
ming. Suppose we combine our requirements 
and in so doing find satisfaction for them all. 
Let us get married. What do you say ?” 

Mary hesitated, hung her head, felt her cheeks 
reddening with a blush unseen in the deepening 
obscurity of the evening and sighed a gentle : 

** Yes.” 

Perhaps she had not long cherished the hope 
that some day Uncle David would make such a 
proposal to her ; possibly her pulses did not at 
that very moment thrill with the triumphant 
consciousness of achievement ; certainly nothing 
of the sort was apparent in her timid, submissive, 
maidenly manner — but then, it is very hard to 
guess at what a woman really thinks and feels 
at such a moment. It is altogether probable — 
for Mary had a warm, affectionate heart, inclined 
to be sentimental and even romantic — that she 
would have liked to hear “ love ” at least referred 
to. But she was sensible enough to understand 
that it is not always those who say “ love ” most 
glibly who feel it most truly. A man like Uncle 
David does not marry without the incentive of 
love, and when he asks a woman to be his wife, 
she will do well to be satisfied with his proposal 
in the form he chooses to make it. 

A serious, reflective silence fell upon both, 


216 


OUR HETTY. 


which, after a few minutes, Uncle David was 
the first to break, resuming, in a business-like 
way : 

“ So much being settled, we may as well go 
on with the arrangements for carrying the 
agreement into effect. When shall we be mar- 
ried ?” 

The abruptness of that summons to decisive 
action startled her, and she answered, with a 
little nervous laugh ; 

“ Why, having waited so long, it would hardly 
be becoming for us to be in haste now.” 

“ The longer we have waited, the less time we 
have to waste. It behooves us to do promptly 
whatever we have in view,” he replied, dogmat- 
ically. 




CHAPTER XXL 

DANNY’S LATEST. 

The upshot of the matter was that she pro- 
posed deferring their wedding to that indeter- 
minate date, ‘‘ the day John and Hetty marry,” 
to which Uncle David readily acceded, with a 
sly smile, having reasons of his own for believ- 
ing that that event would not be far off. 

Hetty’s heart would have been lighter that 
Saturday night could she have shared Uncle 
David’s confidence in the immediate future, but 
the outlook did not, as she viewed it, promise 
well. Her mother’s opposition, though less bit- 
ter than it had been, was no less determined, and 
was now settled upon a new ground, from which 
it seemed impossible to dislodge her. She no 
longer made much of the old feud between the 
Mulveils and the Camerons, over which she 
used to lash herself into a fury. Now, with 
a dramatic intensity of expression that would 
have been ludicrous had it not been so evidently 
in deep earnest, she declared that “ the curse of 

[217] 


218 


OUR HETTY. 


blood " lay between Hetty and her lover and 
must forever keep them apart. 

“ Whose blood ?” demanded Hetty, when this 
astounding declaration was first made to her. 

“ Simeon Mulveil’s, to be sure. Didn’t John 
Cameron lure him to his death ?” 

“ Didn’t he go to his death like a fool, chasing 
a man he had no business to follow ?” 

“ Yes, he had business. I sent him.” 

“ Oh ! Then, if somebody else than himself 
must be held responsible for his fate, I don’t see 
but what you, mother, and not John Cameron, 
are to blame.” 

That was precisely what the widow’s accusing 
conscience said to her, notwithstanding all her 
endeavors to persuade herself that not she, but 
John Cameron, had caused the constable’s death, 
and it was naturally exasperating to find that 
view so readily taken by another. 

“ Of course, you would try to clear him, and 
I don’t wonder at it, for by rights you are as 
much to blame as he is. If you hadn’t enticed 
him to run away with you, your cousin would 
never have had to follow you and been led to 
his death. But I ’ll not argue with you, Hetty, 
for you have no right feeling for your mother ; 
but I tell you, once for all, and you may as well 
make up your mind to it, you shall never become 
the wife of a man who has the blood of a Mulveil 
on his head, and that Mulveil your own cousin, 
not if he is the last man in the world !” 


Danny’s latest. 


219 


They had gone over that dialogue, with more 
or less unimportant variations and modifications, 
so many times that it seemed as if they were 
rehearsing something they meant to play by and 
by, when they both were “ line-perfect.” But 
they ended it variously; sometimes one, some- 
times the other, and generally both, became 
angry. On this particular evening, Hetty vehe- 
mently declared that whatever her mother or 
anybody else might say to the contrary, she 
would marry John whenever he wanted her to. 

** How do you know he wants you?” sneered, 
the widow. “ He didn’t marry you when he 
had a chance to. Either he didn’t want you, or 
he hadn’t the proper spunk of a man. Either 
way, I wouldn’t think much of him if I were in 
your place.” 

It was a cruel thrust, but the girl parried it as 
well as she could, tossing her head with, an air 
of indifference and answering mysteriously : 

That is as far as you know about it. We 
had good reasons. We can afford to wait until 
we are ready.” 

Ah ! And a fine time he ’s having in the 
city while waiting, no doubt. He can afford to 
wait. It 's an old girl you ’ll have got to be 
when he troubles himself about you again. You 
needn’t look for him in a hurry.” 

“ Old McFarlane ’s cornin’ up the lane, cornin’ 
a-courtin’ mam,” shouted Danny, in a sing-song 
tone, poking his grinning face in at the kitchen- 
door. 


220 


OUR HETTY. 


“ Get out, you shameless young villain !” cried - 
Mrs. Mulveil, making a feint of throwing at his 
head the heavy candle-molds into which she had 
just drawn a set of wicks. 

The lad fled, chuckling and humming : “ Corn- 
in' a-courtin’ mam,” up to his garret den, as the 
old lady sprang to her feet, exclaiming : 

“ Drat the man ! What does he want to come 
here for? The idea ! Come, and do up my hair, 
Hetty. I declare, this sun-bonnet pulls it every 
which way. He ’s a nuisance ; but one must be 
, civil to neighbors. Get me a clean collar out of 
the upper bureau-drawer. There ! That ’s him 
rapping at the front door, now ! Run and let 
him in !” 

Hetty admitted Mr. McFarlane, greeting him 
pleasantly, for she liked the plain, unaffected, 
simple-minded old fellow who almost worshiped 
John, and, having seated him in the parlor, 
returned to assist at her mother’s toilet. The 
widow’s tongue ran on as if she felt it incumbent 
upon her to discover some reason, other than the 
real one, for her visitor’s coming, but she low- 
ered her tone. 

I suppose he ’s come to see about seeding 
down the old fallow-field in winter wheat on 
shares, this fall. He said something about it the 
last time he was over.” 

“ He evidently does not believe in postponing 
things until the last moment.” 

Or, maybe he has made up his mind to give 
what I asked for the two-year-old steers.” 


DANNY S LATEST. 


m 


A spirit of mischief, akin to that possessing 
her brother, suddenly inspired Hetty to whisper 
in her mother’s ear, with an affected intensity of 
utterance : 

** Danny and I are going to have some fun with 
him !” 

The widow’s blood ran cold. 

“ Oh !” she gasped in horror ; but before she 
could find breath to protest against and sternly 
forbid all fun with Mr. McFarlane, Hetty had 
fled, and would not be summoned back. 

Outside the kitchen door, Hetty was speedily 
joined by Danny, who glided down from his loft 
as soon as his mother had gone to receive Mr. 
McFarlane in the parlor. 

Say, Hetty,” he demanded, with an air of 
mysterious excitement, “ you ’re going to church 
to-morrow, ain’t you ?” 

“ No ; I ’m not,” she replied curtly. Staying 
away from church on Communion Sabbath 
seemed to her a sort of protest against fate. 
And why should she go to church when John 
would not be there ? 

“ Oh ! But — say, sis ; you ’ll miss lots of fun 
if you don’t go — only, if you do, you want to sit 
near the door.” 

“ What mischief are you up to now ?” 

“ Cross your heart you ’ll never tell ?” 

She laughingly made the gesture and repeated 
the formula HopeT-may-never-s’help-me !” 
which, in boyish estimation, was equivalent to 


222 


OUR HETTY. 


an affidavit, and Danny, feeling that his secret 
was safe, went on : 

“ Me and Sam Bingham — ” 

“ Yes — always when there ’s any deviltry afloat 
it’s you and Sam Bingham. I wonder if you 
two will go to the penitentiary together.” 

“Never you mind about that! ’Taint your 
put-in ! Jes’ listen I Me and Sam Bingham 
have got the biggest kind of a hornet’s nest out 
in the barn. We found it in the woods, more ’n 
two weeks ago, and have been savin’ it up. 
Last night we plugged up the mouth of it, cut 
off the limb it was on, and brung it home.” 

“A hornet’s nest! Mercy! Why don’t you 
burn the horrid thing at once ?” 

“Burn it? I guess not ! I haven’t had a mite 
of fun since I smoked out the singing-school with 
red-pepper on the stove, and you bet 1 ’m not 
going to burn any hornet’s nest when I can stir 
up a whole community with it. Burn that nest, 
with more ’n a thousand or a million lively hor- 
nets in it ! Not if I know myself !” 

“Well, what are you going to do with it?” 

“We can crawl under the church, and we ’ve 
found a loose board that we can shove up under 
the pulpit. To-morrow morning, long before 
anybody else gets there, we Ye going to poke the 
hornet’s nest up under the pulpit, with a long 
string tied to the plug in its mouth and carried 
away outside and hid in the grass, so that we 
can pull out the plug when we think it ’s a good 


Danny’s latest. 


223 


time. The lower part of the pulpit, you know, 
between its floor and the floor of the church, is 
closed in with criss-crossed laths, with little 
square holes between them, so that when you Ve 
under there you can see out, and if meetin’ was 
in, you could see Deacon Hill’s bald head shin- 
ing like a varnished pumpkin. Well, say, sis, 1 
bet when there ’s a hornet coming out of every 
one of those holes, a good many of them will see 
nothing but that bald head, and think of nothin’ 
but jabbin’ it. They ’ll be fightin’ mad, every 
last one of ’em, and, great Scott, how they’ll 
make that congregation get up and dust ! That ’s 
why I said you ’d better sit near the door.” 

“ Oh, Danny, it would be a horribly wicked 
thing to do ! Just think how many folks would 
be stung ! Why, it would break up the meeting !” 

Knock the meetin’ sky high, sure enough ; 
but just think what fun it’ll be to see ’em 
scramblin’ and clawin’ to get out of the doors 
and windows ; and old Mr. McLeod will get his 
dose, I ’ll bet ! They ’ll make him dance worse ’n 
he made me the time he curled his black-snake 
whip around my legs !” 

“ You had no right to take his colt out of the 
pasture to run races.” 

“ Great Scott, Hetty ! A fellow might as well 
die if he isn’t to do anything but what he has a 
right to. It ’s the things you haven’t a right to 
that you get most fun out of always.” 

“ If you act up to that, Danny, you will be not 


224 


OUR HETTY. 


only a bad boy but a very wicked man when you 
grow up.*' 

“ Oh, well, I don’t mean anything serious, you 
know, but just fun.” 

“ Turning those hornets loose in church would 
be very serious and not at all funny for the folks 
who got stung, and you must not do it. 1 will 
not allow it.” 

“ You won’t ! I don’t guess you can stop me. 
Ain’t they my hornets? Suppose I had the idea 
of making pets of them and have changed my 
mind, and being a very kind-hearted boy, I 
choose to give the poor insects their liberty.” 

“ But not in church.” 

“Why not? Isn’t that a good place? Isn’t 
Mr. McLeod just the right man to tackle them ? 
The last time he saw me in church, he preached 
about Elijah and the bears and the boys, and he 
looked square at me, as if he wished he could 
feed me to a bear. But he ’d better go to train- 
ing on little things like hornets fora while before 
he begins ordering bears around.” 

“ If you don’t give up the awfully wicked idea, 
Danny, 1 ’ll tell on you and have it stopped. I 
really must. I wouldn’t have such a thing on 
my conscience.” 

“ Oh ! Indeed ! After you ’ve crossed your 
heart you wouldn’t tell ! 'A nice, soft, tender, 
mushy sort of conscience you must have ! Just 
work it on your own affairs And let mine alone. 
I never did anything as mean as you have.” 


Danny’s latest. 


225 


Why, Danny ! What did I ever do?” 

“ You coaxed John Cameron to run off with 
you and then wouldn’t marry him, just to make 
a fool of him. And it ’s on your account he 
stays away so long.” 

The cruel allegation that it was her own fault 
she was not long since John Cameron’s wife — all 
the more hard to bear for having a spice of truth 
in it — quite overcame her. Turning her back 
upon the boy, without reply, she walked out to 
the front gate and stood leaning over it, lost in 
reverie tinged with regret. Danny ran up to 
the garret over the parlor, “ to see how Scotchy 
was getting along with mam.” 

The worthy Mr. McFarlane’s getting along 
was due to no endeavor of his own. He simply 
allowed himself to drift on the current of con- 
versational circumstance. Luckily for him, the 
widow had no mind to see the bark of his evi- 
dent good intentions wrecked for lack of pilot- 
ing. Love-making may be either the evolution 
of impulse or the product of art. The period of 
youth, when impulse inspires that efflorescence 
of the inexperienced soul, Roger had passed 
through safely, without even a temptation in 
that direction disturbing his serene devotion to 
the acquisition of a competence. And the en- 
grossing cares and settled habits of his maturer 
years had left no place in his life for cultivation 
of that alluring but dangerous branch of art. 
The methods of courtship were as unknown to 


226 


OUR HETTY. 


him as those of the higher mathematics. By 
cautious experiment and rehearsal before his 
mirror, he had learned to assume an expression 
of countenance that seemed to him very affec- 
tionate, even languishing, and, having tried its 
effect upon the widow, he flattered himself that 
she had caught a correct understanding of it. 
With the exception of his occasional employ- 
ment of that expression at stated intervals, his 
visits to Mrs. Mulveil were as devoid of senti- 
mental demonstration as were the official calls 
of the assessor of taxes. 

Seated at a respectful distance from the buxom 
widow, Mr. McFarlane talked. It could not be 
said that he “ kept the conversational ball roll- 
ing.” That phrase conveys altogether too force- 
ful an idea. Rather his talk flowed mild, per- 
sistent and a little mudd}%- Weather, crops, his 
farm improvements, and the doctrine of regener- 
ation by grace were his staple themes, inter- 
spersed with casually remembered fragments of 
such meager news of the day as might have 
come to his knowledge. 

Hetty’s reverie was suddenly broken by an 
eager clutch upon her arm and Danny’s voice 
excitedly whispering in her ear: 

“ Say, sis; 1 ain’t going to touch off the con- 
gregation with them hornets.” 

“ I ’m glad you are not, Danny. I hoped you 
would see the wickedness of it, when you came 
to think.” 


DANNr’s LATEST. 


227 


“ Oh, wickedness nothin’ ! It ain’t that. But 
John Cameron will be at church to-morrow, and 
I don’t want him stung.” 

John will be at church to-morrow ! How do 
you know that ?” 

“ Just heard old McFarlane tell mam. Uncle 
Dave Henderson brought him home to-day. 
That was what made me change my mind.” 

“ And I ’ve changed my mind, too, Danny ; 
you dear, good boy. 1 ’ll go to church to- 
morrow.” 




CHAPTER XXII. 

WHOLESALE MATRIMONY. 

For the first time in almost half a century, 
Mrs. Mulveil looked with suspicion upon the 
honest face of the tall clock in the corner of the 
sitting-room. Long ago, it had taken to running 
the lunar changes in a spasmodic, fantastic and 
untrammeled fashion peculiarly its own, and she 
could hardly remember when it might be 
depended upon for the day of the month, but 
its approximate reliability as a timekeeper had 
become a matter of faith with her. This Sunday 
morning, however, its hands pointed to half- 
past seven, when her feelings, the length of the 
shadows and the dew on the grass all told her 
the hour was not yet more than half-past five. 
Happily, she did not suspect Danny of having 
suborned the aged witness to deceive her. 
Hetty did, however, gratefully, and furthered 
his impatient desires, with which her own were 
in harmony, by pretending unimpaired confi- 
dence in the veracity of the clock and arguing 
[228] 


WHOLESALE MATRIMONY. 


229 


that it would be better to trust to it, eveutif by 
so doing they were brought somewhat early to 
meeting, rather than run the risk of arriving 
there after everybody else. The result was that 
the chores were hurriedly performed, breakfast 
hastily dispatched, and the widow Mulveil’s old 
“ dearborn ” was the first vehicle drawn under 
the maple grove surrounding the church that 
communion-Sabbath morn. 

But hardly had it taken the choicest location 
for hitching — near the spring and where the 
horses would be under shade all day — when 
there were more early comers, and by the time 
the sexton appeared to open the church-doors, a 
dozen families had arrived, among them the 
deacons, whose duty it was to set the commun- 
ion-tables. .. 

Rapidly then the throng increased. The occa- 
sion was one that never failed to bring out not 
only the congregation but practically every per- 
son able to come from miles around, and from 
each of the three convergent roads came dusty 
equestrians and crowded carry-alls, dearborns, 
wagons and buggies almost in processional form, 
until the available space under the grove and in 
the forest belt flanking it was filled, and saddle- 
horses were hitched all along two sides of the 
graveyard fence beyond. Stalwart men, plump, 
smiling matrons, irrepressible boys and pretty 
girls, roseate with health and sparkling with 
gentle excitement, thronged the scene ; kindly 


230 


OUR HETTY. 


greetiiigs, cheery salutations, the jingle of har- 
ness and the neighing of horses stirred the lazy 
echoes; the air was full of the fresh smell of 
trampled grass and the perfume of apple-blos- 
soms and bunches of heliotrope carried by the 
girls. 

Mrs. Cameron and Mary Elder came in a 
buggy, with John and Uncle David riding on 
horseback alongside. Some dark looks were 
directed toward the young man by the most ill- 
conditioned of the Mulveil faction, but among 
the sensible majority the old feud was becoming 
unpopular, and whatever feeling against him 
existed was personal, on Constable Simeon’s 
account, because of the misconception of fact 
truthfully reported to him by Uncle David. 
Each scrowling face he met, however, was offset 
by a score glowing with smiles of unfeigned 
pleasure at his return, and so many hands clasped 
his in hearty welcome that, though his eyes and 
Hetty’s met, he could not manage to get near 
her before the bell rang summoning all to divine 
service. 

The Rev. Mr. McLeod’s morning sermon — 
rather shorter than usual and appropriate to the 
occasion — was followed by the simple but impres- 
sive ceremonial in commemoration of the Last 
Supper. 

Before the pulpif stood a long, narrow table, 
draped with a snowy linen cloth, upon which 
rested a great chalice and a broad plate, both of 


WHOLESALE MATRIMONY. 


231 


solid silver and antique form, each covered by a 
white napkin. Plain benches extended along the 
sides of the table. 

While the whole assemblage joined in singing 
the Twenty-fourth Psalm, members of the con- 
gregation arose from their places in the pews 
and went forward to the table until the benches 
were filled. After a short prayer in consecra- 
tion of the elements, the minister uncovered the 
eucharistic vessels and, himself first partaking of 
the bread piled upon the plate and touching his 
lips to the wine in the cup, passed them succes- 
sively to the deacons, who carried them along 
the lines of the communicants, presenting them 
in turn to each. 

By tacit understanding and established custom, 
the older members of the congregation occupied 
seats at the first table. Side by side among 
them, at this time, sat Mrs. Cameron and Mrs. 
Mulveil. Their hands touched in taking the 
consecrated bread ; their eyes met, and they 
smiled kindly upon each other ; for with the 
suddenness of the lightning’s flash the solemn 
rite thrilled in their hearts a common chord. 
How many years they had sat together at the 
Lord’s table, side by side with the dear ,ones 
long since gone to the farther shore ! How few 
times more, at most, might they hope to meet 
here, ere- they too would be summoned to cross 
the dark river ! Were they not sisters in afflic- 
tion — sisters in love and Christian hope? 


232 


OUR HETTY. 


Though there were many present who had 
not yet formally united themselves to the con- 
gregation by profession of faith, and who con- 
sequently did not partake of the communion, 
enough members presented themselves to fill the 
tables a second and a third time. 

While the second table was being filled, a late- 
comer, a large, heavy man, roughly clad and 
wearing a great beard, entered the church. He 
came in at the backs of the congregation, while 
all were intent upon the ceremony in front, sank 
quietly into a seat by the door and altogether 
escaped observation. Near the end of the ser- 
vices he glided out and disappeared. 

According to immemorial custom, there were 
two long services in the observance of com- 
munion Sabbath. The first was devoted to the 
commemorative rite, already outlined, but the 
second had no distinctive or peculiar features, 
being merely according to the routine followed 
upon other Sundays, except that perhaps the 
sermon was a little longer than usual. Between 
the two there was necessarily a “ recess,” of from 
one to two hours, for rest and refreshment. 
During that time, the vicinity of the church 
presented the unique spectacle of a pious picnic. 
Each family brought along an ample store 
of substantial cold provisions and toothsome 
delicacies, which were appetizingly offered upon 
table-cloths spread on the grass, or, less ostenta- 
tiously but perhaps as satisfactorily, devoured 


WHOLESALE MATRIMONY. 


233 


by handfuls from baskets in the wagons and 
around the spring. There was always more 
than enough for all, and persons who came on 
horseback — and consequently without any com- 
missary department of their own — were welcome 
anywhere and everywhere. It was observable 
that the families having the prettiest girls were 
most called upon for hospitality by the eques- 
trians, who were generally young men and 
bachelors. 

When the morning service ended. Uncle 
David Henderson had some difficulty in keep- 
ing John Cameron at his side until the Reverend 
Mr. McLeod came to them, and, after a cordial 
greeting, led the way into the graveyard as the 
most convenient place for an uninterrupted 
private conversation. There, laying his hand 
upon the young man’s shoulder, the minister 
said : 

“ I told Uncle David, the day before yester- 
day, that I wanted you brought home at once. 
But I did not tell him why. The pleasure of 
that I reserved for myself. In the first place, I 
want to mention to you that I have recovered 
my watch.” 

“ Your watch !” 

“ Yes. The one you found on the Devil’s 
Backbone was mine. And the spoons that were 
with it have been restored to their owner, my 
old friend, Mrs. Billings, who lives over on the 
Canonsburg turnpike. This restitution war^ 


234 


OUR HETTY. 


made by a repentant thief, a poor fellow who, in 
dire distress, succumbed to temptation, but who 
is, I think, at heart an honest man. He wished, 
before dying, to prevent the possibility of unjust 
suspicion putting a stain upon the good name of 
one who has been, he says, kinder to him than 
any other man ever was. Do you know whom 
I mean, John ?” 

“ I think I do, sir. It was Billy the Barker, 
was it not ?” 

“ Yes, that is what he was called when you 
met him. 1 first knew him, however, when he 
was an unhj^ppy, starving colporteur, as William 
Simmons, and that, he assures me, is his real 
name.” 

“ Where is he now ?” 

“ At my house, which I fear he will never 
leave alive. He suffers much and is very far 
gone, wanders in his head a good deal, and at 
such times talks only of you and of his children 
and wife. Poor fellow! His pilgrimage has 
been a sad one, but it is nearly ended.” 

*• Then it is probable that Sim Mulveil really 
had a warrant for John, on account of those 
things?” suggested Uncle David. 

“Yes. He was, no doubt, deceived by misin- 
formation, and, honestly believing he was doing 
his duty as an officer of the law, went to his 
death in trying to execute that warrant. I hope 
you do not cherish any ill feeling toward his 
memory on that account, John.” 


WHOLESALE MATRIMONY. 


235 


“ I certainly do not, sir. I never looked upon 
Sim as an enemy of mine, and I am sincerely 
sorry for him. He was an honest man, who tried 
to do what he thought was right, and if he made 
a mistake now and then, it is no more than most 
of us are liable to.” 

“ I wish,” growled Uncle David, “ that it 
could be got out of the fool heads of some of 
these Mulveils that John is in some way respon- 
sible for Sim’s death.” 

” I guess 1 can knock that idea out better than 
anybody else,” suddenly interpolated the big 
stranger who had for a short time appeared in 
the church, now rising from behind a clump of 
elder-bushes, where he had been lying in the 
grass, an involuntary listener to their conver- 
sation. 

“Sim Mulveil !” exclaimed together the three 
men to whom he presented himself. 

“ That ’s me !” he responded with a grin. 

“ And you were not drowned ?” 

“ Not enough to stay drowned. It was a 
pretty close call, though. After we went through 
the ice, the first I knew 1 was being rolled on a 
barrel, on my stomach, aboard a tug-boat going 
down the Ohio, and 1 learned that somebody 
with a boat-hook had snaked me out of the river 
below the Point, where the channel was open. 
When I came to, I felt sort of disgusted with 
things generally, including myself, and instead 
of coming back, I just kept on going. The tug- 


236 


OUR HETTY. 


boat went no farther than Steubenville, to get a 
barge. 1 got a job on a river-steamer and kept 
on down to Cincinnati and from there to New 
Orleans. I don’t know as I would ever have 
come back, bu.t I got a good chance to invest 
some money and recollected that 1 have a farm 
and a mill here to sell. And, in coming back, 
the thing that has worried me most has been 
what it was my duty to do about that warrant 
I had for John Cameron. I had sworn it out 
myself, on * information and belief,’ but I never 
really believed he was guilty. I guess rum 
gave me a good many of my bad ideas in those 
days, and Rufe Goldie was— But, pshaw ! 
There ’s no use throwing blame off on a dead 
man. I deserved to be drowned, on my own 
account. Well, to get back to the warrant: I 
didn’t know whether I ought to arrest John and 
give him a chance to clear himself, or just let the 
whole business die out. But it never would 
really die out, so long as the record stood on the 
squire’s books that there was a warrant out 
against him for theft. It worried me, I tell you, 
and I came here to-day mainly in the hope of 
meeting John and arranging with him to do as 
he might think best in the matter. And now 
that it is settled as it is, I ’m as right-down glad 
of it as you can be yourself, John Cameron.” 

He and John shook hands heartily, and the 
constable asked : 

“ How ’s your wife ?” 


WHOLESALE MATRIMONY. 


237 


John reddened and, with an embarrassed air^ 
replied : 

“ I haven’t got any.” 

“ What ! Didn’t you and Hetty Mulveil run 
off to Pittsburg and get married ?” 

“We eloped, it is true ; but the beliefthat you 
had lost your life and the notion that I was some- 
how to blame for it that you had put a tempor- 
ary stop to the proceedings. Hetty is still Hetty 
Mulveil, but I don’t mean she shall be much 
longer, please God.” 

“ Well, Sim Mulveil — count him dead or count 
him alive — won’t stand in your way any more, my 
boy. Maybe you didn’t know it, but 1 had a 
sort of hankering notion after her once, myself. 
But I ’ve got all over that. The river soaked a 
good deal of the dum foolishness out of me. I ’m 
too old for her. She doesn’t care for me. And 
1 ’ve got other projects than marrying, anyway. 
So, if the old woman is as cross-grained and ram- 
bunctious about it as she used to be, I ’ll do what 
I can to fetch her around and fix you all right.” 

“ And I think it is high time I began looking 
after my interests,” exclaimed Mr. McLeod with 
a jocose affectation of anxiety. “ I didn’t know 
until now, John, that you had run away to be 
married. iTow that secret has been kept beats 
me ; and I am shocked at the idea of my legiti- 
mate business leaving me in such a way. How 
could you do such a thing, John?” 

“ Indeed, I never wanted to, sir. It was all 


238 


OnR HETTY. 


her mother’s fault, and you mustn’t blame me 
even if I have to do it again.” 

“ Oh, but I will ! Come along, and let us see 
if, with Simeon’s influence to help us, we cannot 
bring the old lady to terms.” 

“ If John can make sure of the girl, all four of 
us ought to be more than a match for her 
mother,” laughed Uncle David. 

A more utterly amazed woman than Mrs. Mul- 
veil, when they presented themselves before her, 
it would be difficult to imagine. She had just 
got her collation spread out on the grass, and 
Mr. Roger McFarlane, her guest, was carving 
a roast chicken with a dexterous grace that was 
her admiration, when the minister’s salutation of 
her by name claimed her attention, and, looking 
up, she beheld before her the face of the sup- 
posed drowned man Simeon. 

Of course, as a preliminary to all else, he had 
to tell over again the story of his escape, and, as 
she constantly interrupted him with exclamations 
and questions, the narration took more time than 
when it was made before. As may be supposed, 
that opportunity was not neglected by John and 
Hetty, who withdrew themselves a little from 
the group to exchange fervid assurances of un- 
diminished reciprocal affection and renew their 
vows of immutable constancy. Finally, he said 
to her : 

“You promised me in Pittsburg that when 1 


WHOLESALE MATRIMONY. 


239 


came for you and said tlie word you would 
marry me. Didn’t you ?” 

“ Yes, John.” 

“Well, I ’m here, and the word is now. We 
have come to settle this business at once.” 

“ Oh !” was all she could find breath to say. 

At that moment Cousin Simeon finished his 
story, and John, stepping forward and address- 
ing himself to Hetty’s mother, said : 

“ Mrs. Mulveil, I love Hetty, and Hetty loves 
me, we are going to be married and would like 
to have your consent, if you have no objec- 
tions.” 

“John Cameron,” she replied, deliberately, 
“ 1 ’ve no doubt you are as good as the general 
run of young men nowadays and mean all you 
say ; but I have said and declared that Hetty 
should not marry you.” 

“ Yes, 1 know y,ou have, but no matter about 
that. What do you say now ?” 

“ Oh, 1 do assure you, Mrs. Mulveil,” ex- 
claimed Mr. McFarlane, “ John is much more 
than as good as the general run of young men. 
He ’s verra much better ; in fact, quite superior ; 
a most worthy young man and well-to-do. I ’ll 
vouch for him, and I do hope you ’ll give your 
consent — for my sake,” he added, in a whisper, 
slyly pressing her hand. 

The minister. Uncle David and Simeon, each 
in turn, added his arguments and solicitations to 
influence her, with such earnestness and volubil- 


240 


OUR HETTY. 


ity as quite dazed her, and she stared helplessly 
at them, from one to another. In point of fact 
they were wasting their efforts. A kindlier feel- 
ing than she had known in years had been in her 
heart ever since that touch of Mrs. Cameron’s 
hand at the communion-table, and the matter 
was as good as settled when Mr. McFarlane 
asked it, for his sake ; but they gave her no 
opportunity to tell them so until they had over- 
whelmed her with their competitive eloquence. 
They would not let her say that she had recently 
changed her mind. Indeed, the minister, having 
got his second wind, was starting in afresh 
when she reached out for John and Hetty , caught 
one of them with each hand and banged them 
together, exclaiming : 

“There! There! Take her before they talk 
the head off of me ! 1 hope you ’re all satisfied 

now !” 

Hearty laughter, congratulations and expres- 
sions of good wishes all around followed. Then 
John, taking Hetty’s hand, drew her up to his 
left side in front of the minister, saying : 

“ Now ! Go ahead !” 

“ Hold .on ! Hold on ! Wait a minute !” pro- 
tested Uncle David. 

“ You ’re always wanting us to wait !” objected 
John. “ What ’s the matter with you now ?” 

“ Only wait a moment until I come back ! 
Keep your places !” answered the giant, hur- 
riedly trotting away. 


WHOLESALE MATRIMONY. 


241 


While they were still wondering what new 
notion possessed him, he returned, almost out of 
breath, bringing with him John’s mother and 
demure little Miss Mary Elder. To the latter 
he said : 

“ Last night you gave me your promise that 
you would become my wife at the same time 
Hetty married John. According to the terms of 
that agreement, you have less than two minutes 
to remain Mary Elder.” 

“Oh! But — good gracious, Mr. Henderson! 
I never dreamed of an3’thing so sudden as this !” 

“ You surely would not attempt to set up your 
lack of prevision as a bar to fulfillment of your 
part in a deliberately made contract ?” 

“ N-n-no.” 

“ Then take your place here beside me. That ’s 
right. Now go on, Mr. McLeod.” 

“Wait a moment,” interposed Mr. McFarlane. 

“ Everybody wants us to wait !” complained 
John to Hetty. “ It looks like a conspiracy.” 

“Only for a moment, John,” pleaded the 
Scotchman. 

“ In view of what was settled between us last 
night, Mrs. Mulveil, don’t you think we might 
as well follow what appears to be a contagious 
example, and avail ourselves of at least as good 
an opportunity as we will ever have in our 
lives?” 

“ Oh, Mr. McFarlane !” protested the widow. 


242 


OUR HETTY. 


“ How would it look for me to be married at the 
same time as my daughter ?” 

“ It would look as if your daughter were being 
married at the same time as yourself,” he replied. 

Lucid as King James and true as Bobby ' 
Burns !” exclaimed Uncle David. “ You may as 
well fall into line, Mrs. Mulveil, and let me be 
the last one who calls you that.” 

So she did ; and in short order the Reverend 
Mr. McLeod performed what he ever after char- 
acterized as “ the largest wholesale matrimonial 
job ” he had ever done in one day. 

Fortunate matches all three proved, for each 
couple was well mated, and in the light of their 
happiness the last clouds of The Old Grudge 
between the Mulveils and the Camerons faded 
forever away. 


THE END. 




WORKING THE ORACLE. 


CHAPTER I. 

THE COY WIDOW. 

Doubtless, if M. Anatole Duprez had not 
removed to those new apartments in the Rue 
Fontenelle, he might have continued indefinitely 
the careless and joyous existence that had been 
his ever since he became of age and entered into 
possession of his patrimony, seven years before. 

When Fate first noticed Anatole, handsome, 
happy, lucky and thoughtless, she said to her- 
self : There is no merit in trapping this young 

fellow ; his capture will be too easy : but, just to 
jostle him a little with the idea that something 
can happen to him, he must have a small tumble.” 

[243] 


244 


WORKING THE ORACLE. 


So she set for him a very tempting little pitfall 
in the Rue Fontenelle. 

The pitfall was matrimony, and its excellent 
bait was the fascinating young widow, Mme. 
Natalie Girard, who had, however, no conscious- 
ness of or desire for being a bait. In fact, she had, 
thanks to experience and discretion, decided prej- 
udices against matrimony. Madame Cantillac, 
her mother, had successfully dragooned her into 
marrying Monsieur Girard, a worth}^ exporter 
of sardines, oil and olives, who was too stout to 
be agile, to red to be handsome and too old to 
be attractive, but whose wealth made him desir- 
able — in the mother’s eyes exclusively. But 
Fate, foreseeing other and better uses for pretty 
Madame Girard, took care that the overripe 
exporter should step into an apoplexy pitfall 
within a year after his marriage ; and Madame 
Cantillac had by this time gone where she could 
no longer dragoon anybody, except, perhaps, 
through table-tipping and planchette, which must 
seem exasperatingly insufficient means to any 
strong-minded ghost. So the widow Girard was 
the happily independent possesser of a very 
handsome fortune, sufficient to last her well all 
her life if she did not throw it away upon some 
scapegrace of a second husband, a thing she was 
quite resolved would not happen. 

Truly, Anatole was right in considering her 
the most delicious of all captivating widows, as 
he did the moment his eyes rested upon her. 


THE COY WIDOW. 


245 


They met at the foot of the stairs when he 
was coming in and she was going out to a car- 
riage waiting for her at the curb. He stood 
aside, with his hat raised, as she passed, and still 
continued standing in the same attitude, without 
being aware of it, until the sound of her car- 
riage-wheels could no longer be heard. 

“ He stares at me as if he thought I was lost 
property of his,” thought the lively widow, as 
she sank back among the cushions. Then she 
dismissed his existence from her memory. 

But Anatole did not so easily, or, indeed, at 
all, disembarrass his mind of that seductive 
vision of loveliness. Naturally, he addressed 
himself to the concierge^ whose duty it is to know 
all about everybody in the house and who can 
be relied upon to tell a little, all or much more 
than he knows, according as he is paid. 

“The lady,” said the concierge ^ W\\^ time con- 
fining himself to the truth, “is Madame Natalie 
Girard, who, with her maid Amandine — who has 
black eyes and is very saucy — occupies the 
apartments beneath those of monsieur. 1 need 
not observe that she is pretty, since the fact has 
probably not escaped monsieur’s notice. There 
is good reason to believe she is rich, and, al- 
though a widow, her conduct is unexceptionable. 
Very respectable people call upon her, in their 
own carriages, and, though she has lived here 
nearly two years, with her maid, as I have told 
you, I have never seen any one shake the head 


246 


WORKING THE ORACLE. 


and smile when her name was mentioned. Your 
predecessor in your apartments, who was a 
prominent official in a railway company, made 
the most herculean efforts to cultivate an ac- 
quaintance with her and was so much disgusted 
with his entire lack of success that he moved 
away. No ; I am sure she does not receive any 
gentleman who pays court to her. Amandine, 
who is a very roguish girl, avers that her mis- 
tress thinks of entering a convent ; but 1 believe, 
if she does, it will only be on a visit. She is 
still too young and pretty to contemplate wast- 
ing herself." 

That evening, contrary to his habit, Anatole 
remained at home. He felt a disinclination for 
going out, notwithstanding he knew very agree- 
able friends would be surprised by his non- 
appearance in his usual haunts. It seemed to 
him pleasanter to stay, at least, under the same 
roof with the widow and cogitate upon schemes 
likely to be more successful than those of the 
discomfited railway official. And, as the evening 
wore on, he became conscious of proceedings in 
the apartments beneath him, which claimed his 
interest. 

Madame Girard was having a little reception. 
His attention was first called to it by the rattle 
of wheels and stamping of horses’ hoofs in the 
ordinarily quiet street. Then, as he looked to 
discover the cause of that noise, he saw a bright 
illumination glowing out on the night from her 


THE COY WIDOW. 


247 


open windows. . Sitting on his own window-sill, 
he could hear much of what was going on below 
him and follow pretty correctly the progress of 
events. The courteous greetings of guests, mur- 
murs of compliment and buzz of general conversa- 
tion floated up to him. He knew a game of ecart^ 
was going on in a cool corner close by a window. 
There was music, different persons playing, not 
all badly, upon the piano, and some one — he was 
sure it must be the widow — singing deliciously 
an aria from “ Carmen.’’ That pure, sweet voice 
not only charmed his senses but seemed to 
delight his very soul. Afterward, there were 
rattlings of cups and saucers and tinklings of 
glasses ; finally, a little dancing, and then, at a 
sedately early and proper hour, the guests went 
away. 

The next morning, he knew he was right in 
supposing Madame Girard the charming singer 
of that aria. She was up early and caroling like 
a bird when he awoke. 

At the same hour the widow had gone riding 
the afternoon before, a carriage appeared at the 
door. Anatole, whose hope had been prescient, 
was ready to grasp the opportunity which he 
imagined presented itself and nimbly ran down 
the stairs to the front door before Madame 
Girard emerged from her apartments. There he 
listened for her descent and timed his return so 
well that again he met her, exactly at the foot of 
the stairs, as if by accident. He raised his hat. 


2J:8 WORKING THE ORACLE. 

bowing elaborately. She looked at him in cold 
surprise and went on her way. 

Anatole was not accustomed to being snubbed 
by pretty women, and the novel experience con- 
fused him. He felt himself blushing— actually 
blushing, under the sarcastic smile of the con- 
cierge, who was looking on, and with a weak pre- 
tense of carrying the matter off easily remarked : 

“ I have forgotten my cigar-case.’' 

The excuse compelled him to re-ascend to his 
room. In a few moments he came down again, 
affecting to settle the cigar-case — where it had 
been all the while — in a breast-pocket, and 
walked away, nonchalantly as he could. And in 
his heart he knew the concierge behind him was 
grinning and probably saying to himself : “ The 
railroad official also tried that.” And, indeed, 
that was exactly what concierge was recalling, 
with the further reflections: “And, next, he, 
too, will be sending her flowers. It is singular 
how monotonously alike the actions of young 
men are.” The fellow’s foresight was as good 
as his memory. 

It was not in the character of a son of the 
gallant Gen. Antoine Duprez to be discouraged 
by a single rebuff or even by a succession of 
them. Obstacles only stimulated Anatole’s ardor 
to overcome them, and he consoled himself by 
reflecting that it is precisely those women most 
worth winning who are with most difficulty 
won. An easy conquest is not a satisfying assur- 


THE COY WIDOW. 


249 


ance to the philosophic mind contemplating 
matrimony, and that extreme step, really matri- 
mony, with the pretty widow Girard as its 
object, was what the young man already seri- 
ously had in view. But it was not easy for him 
to determine upon the next step of the siege. 
Another false one was to be dreaded. And he 
felt himself lamentably deficient of experience in 
the courting of shy widows. If it had been a 
question of approaching Mademoiselle Coralie or 
the little Nanon, he would have commenced by 
sending a bouquet, to be followed by bonbons, 
with some pretty jewel or trinket in the box, suf- 
ficient to stir an appetite for more. But, just 
because that would be the correct course in 
those cases, it did not seem suitable to the pres- 
ent emergency. 

Eventually he decided, not without consider- 
able dubitation, however, that, so far as the flow- 
ers went, that line of attack would do ; and the 
manner of their reception would have to deter- 
mine whether further advances should be in 
accordance with such precedents as he possessed 
or by some other and at present indiscoverable 
method. So he procured a handsome bouquet, 
and, when in possession of it, found himself in a 
new quandary : Whether he might, or might 
not venture to attach his card to it. Reverting 
to precedent, he reflected that, Coralie or Nanon 
would have expected to see a card ; therefore 
there should be none in sending to the widow. 


250 


WORKING THE ORACLE. 


Beyond the primary step of the flowers them- 
selves — flowers being supposably pleasing to all 
women — it would perhaps be prudent to just 
follow the rule of reversing all the precedents, 
in making advances to Madame Girard. 

The concierge delivered the beautiful bouquet 
at Madame Girard’s door, while she was out, 
only to have it returned to him by Amandine 
immediately upon her mistress’s return home, 
with the message that “ Madame does not receive 
flowers from unknown persons.” 

Come to think about it,” said Anatole, to 
himself, “ it was a stupidity to send a bouquet in 
that fashion. How could she know it did not 
come from the obnoxious railway official ?” 

So, the next day, he sent to her a magnificent 
bunch of fragrant and beautiful exotics, accom- 
panied by his card, but the response was even 
worse, being more personal than that elicited by 
the first offering. Amandine carried them back 
to the concierge, with the message : “ Madame 
does not receive flowers from gentlemen with 
whom she is unacquainted.” 



CHAPTER II. 

THE WAY OF THE SAGE. 

“ I believe,’* said Anatole to himself, “ that in 
so extraordinary a case as this I might do well 
to consult Monsieur Rochecourt.” 

It was an excellent idea. Monsieur Roche- 
court enjoyed and deserved the reputation of 
having, during his fifty years of bachelorhood, 
entertained an infinite number of theories about 
women and of putting them all to practical test 
— with the natural exception of such as would 
have involved matrimony. A prudent man must 
set some limit to his enthusiasm for experiment. 
But as years wore on, and his hair wore off, the 
old gentleman gradually relinquished this fascin- 
ating branch of study. Now, he was rarely to 
be seen anywhere else than at the club, where 
he was content to be the mentor of the rising 
generation of experimentalists. When M. Ana- 
tole Duprez solicited his advice, having made a 

[251] 


252 


WORKING THE ORACLE. 


full Statement of the case, the man of much 
experience safd : 

You have demonstrated too much ardor. 
She has been perfectly aware of you from your 
first meeting and doubtless knows a great deal 
more about you already than you possibly can, 
or, perhaps, ever will, know about her. But 
your advances, by their boldness and persistence, 
awake in her a reaction of antagonism. She is 
one who values herself too highly to be taken by 
storm. And she does not value a conquest that 
is made too easily any more than you yourself 
would. Her pride must be piqued and her curi- 
osity excited. If possible, you must make her 
say to herself : ‘ 1 am not so sure 1 have captiv- 
ated this young man ; he seems capable of turn- 
ing his back upon me.’ She will not be content 
until she has assured herself of the power of her 
fascinations, once she feels it a matter of question. 
As you affect to retreat she will advance, until, 
without being aware of it, her toe crosses the 
boundary line beyond which turning back will 
be at least difficult. Cease, for a few days at 
Least, paying the slightest attention to her. You 
will see that she will very soon seek to reclaim 
the interest she has already learned to expect.” 

In compliance with that sage advice, the 3 ^oung 
man, during three or four days, kept out of the 
widow’s way and, of course, refrained from floral 
tributes. Then, one morning, his valet Josef said 
to him with a sly smile : 


THE WAY OF THE SAGE. 


253 


“ Mademoiselle Amandine, the maid of our 
neighbor below, has been questioning me con- 
cerning monsieur.” 

“ Ah, I am flattered ! Amandine is sufficiently 
pretty to merit a reciprocation of interest.” 

” Does monsieur wish to torture me with jeal- 
ousy ?” exclaimed Josef, in mock-heroic style. 

“No, you rogue !” laughed his master. “ But 
what else am I to suppose ?” 

“ That mademoiselle is a charming variety of 
that new American instrument into which one 
talks that it may repeat what has been said.” 

“ And her interest in me is purely vicarious ?” 

“ I am interested in believing so, sir.” 

“ Oho ! The maid pleases your fancy, Josef ?” 

“ As much as the mistress does that of mon- 
sieur ?” 

“ I hope you find her complaisant.” 

“ Maids are apt to be imitative. Until to-day. 
Mademoiselle Amandine was very coy.” 

“ From which you infer — ” 

“ That the wind sits from another quarter in 
the sails of madame, also.” 

“Aha! Already? Well, what did she wish 
to know about me?” 

“ All things. From the time monsieur was in 
long clothes, 1 believe. I told her you were the 
only son of the brave General Duprez, from 
whom you had inherited a couple of millions — ” 

“The deuce! You were piling it on rather 
heavy, my friend.” 


254 


WORKING THE ORACLE. 


“ 1 have always found that judicious in dealing 
with the sex, monsieur. They are inclined to be 
skeptical, and it is necessary to discount in 
advance the reductions they are sure to make 
upon what we tell them. I also told her that by 
judicious investments in solid commercial enter- 
prises you had largely increased your fortune 
and were daily becoming more wealthy.” 

“ But, rascal, if I hold my own, I consider 1 ’m 
doing very well.” 

“ So do I, sir; but madame's wealth has been 
acquired in trade, with which she must be more 
or less familiar, and, consequently, accumulation 
has a certain fascination for her, no doubt. 
Then, again, a young man’s attention to serious 
business encourages the assumption that he is 
‘ steady ’ — a quality for which widows have a 
favorable prejudice.” 

“When you leave off service, Josef, will you 
be a diplomat or a philosopher ?” 

“ Neither, monsieur. I shall keep a cabaret, if 
I can persuade Mademoiselle Amandine to be- 
come my cashier.” 

“ And what did you tell her of my habits?” 

“ All that monsieur would desire to have be- 
lieved true.” 

“ A diplomatic answer. Let it go at that. 
And did not Mademoiselle Amandine have any- 
thing to say in exchange for your veracious con- 
fidences ?” 

“ A great deal, sir. Of course, I scaled her 


THE WA.Y OP THE SAGE. 


255 


statements. Madame Girard is twenty-four 
years old.” 

** Scaled or unsealed ?” 

“ Duly scaled, sir. Amandine said twenty- 
one, and I add three.” 

“ What is your rule ?” 

“ Under twenty-two, avowed, add three ; from 
twenty-two to twenty-five, add five ; from twen- 
ty-five to thirty, add ten. Beyond that, compu- 
tations are useless.” 

“You are about right. Go on.” 

“ Madame has an income of seventy-five thou- 
sand francs per annum, unsealed. We will put 
that down at say fifty thousand. Madame has 
had a husband — ” 

“No scaling on that.” 

“ No, sir. Only the one. I think that is right. 
Finally, madame has the temper of an angel, the 
virtue of a vestal, the accomplishments of a para- 
gon, and her personal charms are real.” 

“All that, I am confident, is quite true.” 

“Yet, considerably scaled down, I assure you, 
sir, from the maid’s representations.” 

“She must have given it to you pretty 
strong.” 

“ Naturally, she would not let herself be ex- 
celled.” 

“ I blush to think how you must have painted 
me. But — will it all lead to anything?” 

“That depends upon you, sir.” 

“ Indeed !” 


256 


WORKING THE ORACLE. 


“Amandine said to me : ‘ Why does not mon- 
sieur obtain an introduction to madame in a for- 
mal way. He surely is acquainted with some 
one who knows her.’ ” 

“ Josef, I deserve to be kicked for not having 
thought of that before. 1 consider myself kicked. 
But how am I to tell who knows her?” 

“ Ah ! Amandine was prepared to smooth 
away that obstacle. She had in her possession 
the list of those invited to her mistress’s next 
Thursday-evening reception — ‘ quite accident- 
ally,’ she said — and permitted me to copy it. 
Here it is.” 

Anatole gave but one glance at it, when he 
muttered a cry of exultation and, slapping his 
thigh, exclaimed : 

“ Bah ! Why, it is of all things the most easy ! 
Here is the name of worthy Monsieur Nerode, 
the morocco-leather merchant, in whose busi- 
ness I have an interest and who has known me 
all my life. Of course, he will present me.” 

His happy expectation was realized. Monsieur 
Nerode presented him with all due formality, 
and Madame Girard’s manner was as gracious 
as he could have desired. At the same time, 
she caused him to feel himself a person just met 
for the first time and who, for aught she knew to 
the contrary, was only on a transient visit to the 
city. Only once was that enforced veil of obliv- 
ion lightly twitched aside for an instant from 
the face of the agitated past. 


THE WAY OE THE SAGE. 


257 


She had, when going to the piano, laid her 
bouquet upon a stand. After singing delightfully 
a sweet little Provencal ballad, as she was about 
to retake her flowers, Anatole anticipated her 
and, offering them, said : 

“ Permit me.” 

She took them, with just a single flash of 
merry recollection in her bright eyes, and he 
knew she thought of his two returned bouquets. 

If he had thought her pretty in street costume, 
how infinitely more ravishing was her beauty in 
evening-dress. The dazzling whiteness of her 
exquisitely molded bust and arms and the fully 
revealed grace of her slender neck and admir- 
ably poised head were all fascinations only now 
possible of realization, in their perfection. Her 
face, too, had gained in character. In the rose- 
ate light reflected upon it by Her broad hat, it 
was lovely, bewitching; but now it showed 
much more — it had become spirituelle. 

After that evening. Monsieur Duprez called 
very often upon Madame Girard and paid court 
to her ardently but with small success. She was 
very kind, but he could not melt that kindness 
into love. When he reproached her with cold- 
ness, she laughed. 

“ See, Monsieur Duprez,” she said to him, 
“ from my childhood I remember having heard 
that straw fires blaze quickly and soon expire. 
So it is with hasty devotion and lightly sworn 
fidelity ; they do not last. The love you profess 


258 


WORKING THE ORACLE. 


for me is too young. It has not yet grown to an 
age of discretion. *To hold it responsible would 
be cruel.” 

“ Can you not read my devotion in my eyes ?” 

“ To use a shop-keeper’s metaphor, the paint 
of the sign is still too fresh ; it will rub off.” 

Let the sight of your soul penetrate deeper 
than the sign in the eyes, and behold the goods 
within — the love for you which fills my heart.” 

“ Age increases the value of sound goods.” 

Ah, madame! Have you vowed not to 
accept my heart until it has become shop- 
worn ?” 





CHAPTER III. 

THE ALARMING CRYSTAL BALL.. 

One day Amandine told Josef a frightful 
thing. 

“ Do you know, my dear,” she said to him, I 
have something on my conscience ?” 

“ Ah, you freeze my heart! 1 feared it. But 
— go one with your confession.” 

“ My confession ? Are you crazy or laughing 
at me ? In any case, do you think I would con- 
fess on myself? No, I confess on madame.” 

“ Ah, since it only concerns Monsieur Duprez, 
my mind is easy.” 

“ But, wretch that you are, will you keep still 
until I shall have told you? I am no doubt 
wrong in not having mentioned it before ; with 
so good and generous a young man as monsieur, 
one deserves to be frank — and I have not been. 
But he shall know all before it is too late.” 

“ Heavens ! I shudder for my master! What 
must follow an exordium like that ? lam done 
shuddering — go on.” 

[259] 


260 


WORKING THE ORACLE. 


“ Josef, you are never serious, and that is some- 
times wrong ; now, for instance, since this is 
truly a grave matter. My mistress practices 
black magic !” 

“ Ah, bah ! There is no such thing.” 

“ It is ignorant of you to say so ; and ungal- 
lant, since I have afihrmed it. It is as I tell you. 
She has a ball of crystal as big as my head, in 
which she summons up at will, by incantations, 
places, men, women, spirits, angels, devils — how 
do I know what all ? — and talks with them. And 
she sees in it what anybody is doing anywhere, 
if she desires.” 

“The deuce! That might be awkward, if 
true. But your condition alarms me, my pigeon. 
Do you often have spells of imagining things 
like that ?” 

“ I imagine nothing. My mistress sees those 
things and describes them, so that I can almost 
see them myself. Sometimes, she says, perhaps 
I may, but I do not wish to. I am afraid of 
them. And, what is more dreadful yet, she has 
a machine which talks to her like a person — only 
a dead person.” 

“ Oh, that is very simple. It is, no doubt, one 
of those new American dolls. There is clock- 
work in its stomach, and it sings: ‘ Mother, may 
I go out to swim ?’ ” 

“ No, no ! It is a machine, not at all like a doll, 
and it talks sensibly, much more so than you 
often do. I tell you it is a thing of magic. I do 


THE ALARMING CRYSTAL BALL. 


261 


not see why people should say there is no magic 
any more. Surely, there used to be a great deal. 
Every one knows that. And since it was once, 
why should it not be now ? Tell me that, if you 
can, wise one.” 

“ Well, what am I to do? Would you have me 
convene an ecclesiastical court? The church 
only takes official cognizance of the devil now. 
.We men of science ignore him.” 

“That which you will do will be to solemnly 
warn your master. Put him on his guard. 1 
wash my hands of all further responsibility, now 
that I have told you.” 

“Ah! My master knows already. I have 
heard him call her ‘a little witch.’ ” 

“ Will you not be serious, Josef ?” 

“ How can I be serious when the intoxication 
of joy at being near you makes me light-headed ?” 

“ Then 1 shall leave you until you regain the 
normal heaviness of your head.” 

“No; stop’! Don’t go. Amandine, and I will 
jest no more. I ’ll tell my master what you say.” 

“ But adjure him that he must not let madame 
know I have warned him. She might never for- 
give me. And tell him, if he wants proofs, he 
shall have them. If he desires it, I shall pul him 
in a closet where he may see all, the next time 
madame makes her incantations.” 

“ An airy closet, where he will not be over- 
come by the fumes of the brimstone when the 
demons come ?” 


262 


WORKING THE ORACLE. 


“ I have never smelled any brimstone — only 
heliotrope.” 

“ Ah ! Then they are, doubtless, good spirits. 
But how is he to know when the time will 
arrive?” 

“ Drop a long thread from one of your rear 
windows, so that it shall fall near a window of 
our kitchen, where I may reach it. When 1 see 
her making ready, I will give you a signal by 
pulling the thread, and, if he comes down, will 
admit him by the rear door. She always prac- 
tices her magic in the forenoons.” 

“ He will be sure to come ; I will answer for 
that. Any excuse which affords an opportunity 
for seeing Madame Girard, under any circum- 
stances, will be good for him. And where do I 
come in — 1, your devoted Josef?” 

“ If you are very good, you may remain in the 
kitchen with me while monsieur is in the closet.” 

“ Amandine, you have the word of a Josef that 
I shall be good — of a lover that I will come.” 

Josef duly reported to his master the strange 
story he had been told. Of course, he surmised 
the talking-machine was a phonograph, with 
which ingenious invention he had formed a 
slight and distant acquaintance at the time of 
the Exposition ; but beyond that. Amandine’s 
tale seemed mysterious and improbable to him. 
And Monsieur Anatole had very little more of 
either knowledge or opinion in the premises than 
his valet. But the matter was one demanding 


THE ALARMING CRYSTAL BALL. 


263 


investigation. That they fully agreed upon and 
made all ready for compliance with the girl’s 
directions. 

On the second morning thereafter, Josef, who 
already had long been sitting in a rear room, with 
the thread tied to his thumb, called excitedly to 
his master : 

“ Monsieur ! The signal ! It is time !” 

They hastened down stairs and were admitted 
by Amandine, who held a forefinger on her lips 
as a pantomimic injunction of silence. While 
Josef seated himself obediently and very will- 
ingly in the kitchen, the girl conducted Monsieur 
Anatole along an obscure passage-way to a large 
closet, which was pretty well lighted through a 
small square window high up in one of its walls. 

She caused him to mount upon a stanch table 
placed beneath that little window and then left 
him alone. The scene upon which he gazed 
in the adjoining apartment was indeed a strange 
one. 

Madame Girard was seated in an easy chair, 
still in the act of comfortably adjusting herself 
before a small table covered and draped with 
black. She wore a loose wrapper of some soft, 
clinging white stuff, and her long, heavy hair 
fell unconfined upon her shoulders. On the 
table, an ebony pedestal supported, almost at 
the height of her eyes, a perfect sphere of rock 
crystal, not less than six inches in diameter. 
Beyond her, on another black table, stood a 


264 


WORKING THE ORACLE. 


phonograph. The walls of the small room were 
draped with dark-violet hangings, the somber 
hue of which seemed to absorb the light diffused 
directly above her head from a translucent 
globe, doubtless containing an incandescent 
electric lamp. Having placed herself to her 
satisfaction, she fixed her gaze intently upon the 
crystal ball and remained silent and motionless 
during several minutes. 

Suddenly a small, shrill, penetrating voice 
broke the stillness with the words : 

“Well? What do you see? Tell me what 
you behold." 

The voice was not that of Madame Girard, 
yet seemed to resemble hers or, rather, to be a 
reminder of it. Anatole realized that she had, 
by some motion he had failed to observe, started 
the phonograph, which was speaking. Its de- 
mand reached her hearing as well as his, for she 
replied to it : 

“ Nothing ; only clouds— slow, rolling clouds, 
without form, void and of uncertain tint, 
seeming to ceaselessly involve and evolve them- 
selves." 

Anatole wondered that he could hear her soft, 
mellow voice so plainly, until he discovered that 
the little window through which he gazed was 
pendent from hinges at the top and had been 
cunningly swung a little way outward at the 
bottom, so that he was practically in the same 
room with her, so far as heaiing and seeing were 


THE ALARMING CRYSTAL BALL. 


265 


concerned. Presently, the shrill little voice 
spoke again sharply, in a tone of command : 

“ What do you see now ? Tell me !” 

“ 1 see,” responded Madame Girard, speaking 
slowly and clearly, in a strangely mechanical 
way, however, ‘‘a large room, with heavy crim- 
son curtains draped closely over its two big 
windows. Between the windows is a tall mirror. 
There are two other mirrors, very large ones, on 
the side walls, opposite each other, in huge 
gilded frames. In the ornamentation of the 
walls and ceiling there is much gilding and 
color. The general effect is gaudy, tawdry, vul- 
gar. The center of the room is occupied by a 
great round table, bearing a profusion of silver- 
ware, china, cut-glass and flowers. Covers are 
placed for eight persons.” 

The hair of Anatole erected itself, while she 
went on in that unimpassioned and precise 
description as if she had been reading from an 
auctioneer’s catalogue. He almost beheld the 
scene before him, as indeed he often had, for it 
was one familiar to him. She had relapsed into 
silence, while these thoughts agitated him, and 
he began to have a little hope that the inspira- 
tion had deserted her, when the evil-minded 
machine on her left again administered a prod 
of its vocal needle, summoning her : 

“Well. Continue. What else do you see? 
Tell me ! You must speak ! I command it!” 

“ You command anything !” thought Anatole, 


266 


WORKING THE ORACLE. 


ill a rage. “ I would kick out your insides if I 
could get at you !” 

Madame Girard obediently continued : 

“ Four couples enter the room and take places 
at the table. Anatole is among them. A girl, 
whom he calls Nanon, is leaning on his arm — ” 

Anatole in his excitement, forgetting where 
he stood, gave a jump and knocked over a 
pitcher, which fell upon the floor with a great 
smash, that he thought, must alarm Madame 
Girard, and he gave one glance at her, thinking 
to then leap down and run, but, to his profound 
surprise, she seemed to have heard nothing. 
Evidently, she was conscious only of the voice 
of the machine and what she saw and heard in 
the crystal ball. He listened again as she went 
on : 

“ There is much jesting and laughing and friv- 
olity. The tone of the young women is not de- 
mure.” 

She spoke with seeming reluctance, and -her 
utterance, becoming slower and slower, ceased 
altogether with that gentle characterization of 
the demeanor of the young women, which, Ana- 
tole did not question, was well within bounds. 
He again ventured to hope she had run down — 
would not be able to report anything more. 
Alas ! He had not taken into sufficient account 
the spur of that diabolical phonograph, which 
again compelled her by its abominable squeak 
of — 


THE ALARMING CRYSTAL BALL. 


267 


“ Well ; you have not finished. Go on ! Tell 
me all ! You must see and tell me !” 

“ Woe to him who invented you ! Monster of 
impertinent curiosity !” ejaculated Anatole. 

“ There is champagne — and more champagne,” 
resumed Madame Girard. “ One of the young 
women sings a song. Much of it is an argot I do 
not understand. The others join in a chorus of : 
* Tzing, la, la ; tzing, la, la to which they beat 
time with a rattle of knifes and forks upon the 
plates and glasses. The chorus ends with 
Anatole does not pay an excessive attention to 
the young woman he calls Nanon. He becomes 
involved in a dispute with another man, concern- 
ing a race which is to come off. He makes a 
wager of a thousand francs that the horse Vence- 
dor will win.” 

She had not stopped speaking or given any 
indication of doing so, when again the impatient 
mischief-making machine piped out, its voice 
mingling with hers : 

“ Well, go on ! See more ! Tell me all !” 

That was just what she was doing, continuing 
without regard to it: 

“ Anatole rises and says he is going home. 
Nanon does not want him to go, but he persists. 
He and another gentleman depart. The six per- 
sons who remain join again in the chorus : ‘ Tzing, 
la, la !' Anatole and his friend light cigars and 
stroll along the boulevard to his club.” 

“ Ah, 1 breathe again !” exclaimed her auditor. 


268 


WORKING THE ORACLE. 


“ Thank Heaven ! It wasn’t so very bad that 
time!” 

She went on describing, with the same nicety 
of detail, his visit to his club, but, seeming to 
become exhausted, gradually ceased speaking 
and, as the phonograph no longer spurred her, 
appeared to sleep. 

Aiiatole fled to his apartments. 




CHAPTER IV. 

BLACK MAGIC SIMPLIFIED. 

The situation presented itself to Monsieur 
Duprez as one of horror, almost justifjdng des- 
pair. What prospect, he asked himself, would 
any young man have for marriage if the woman 
he sought were able to put his life under minute 
inspection in that appalling fashion ? He did not 
believe he had been any worse than others; 
indeed, he flattered himself that, if there had 
been anything exceptional in his career, it had 
been on the side of propriety. And yet, what 
must be the view Madame Girard would take of 
it? Was there no way of putting a stop to her 
views? 'Amandine was quite right in saying it 
was black magic — but black magic with modern 
scientific attachments. The crystal ball was old 
as thaumaturgy itself, and really seemed to have 
a good deal in it, notwithstanding the pooh-pooh- 
ings of an enlightened age. But how had she 
been able to corrupt the young and presumably 
innocent phonograph, making it a partner in her 
eerie cantraps? The problem, he decided, was 

[2691 


270 WORKING THE ORACLE. 

too much for him and well worthy the considera- 
tion of some thorough scientist. By great good 
luck he knew one no doubt capable of grappling 
with it, the American, Dr. G. W. Perkins, who 
would surely, as a friend, take pleasure in advis- 
ing him. 

Dr. G. W. Perkins, originally from some West- 
ern town of the United States, perhaps not down 
on the map, had made himself, by the force of 
his energy and genius, a distinguished man in 
Paris. Being an enthusiast in his profession, he 
had not been content with graduating — even 
with honors — in one of the principal medical 
schools of his own country but had sought to 
learn yet more by personal study of European 
practice, particularly in the Viennese and Par, 
isian hospitals. Naturally, that fascinating branch 
of science, known as hypnotism, attracted his 
attention, and very soon, as he found himself en- 
dowed with exceptional power as a magnetizer, 
engrossed his interest. By this time he had 
achieved the distinction of ranking, in the estima- 
tion of the scientific world, with the eminent 
Charcot and the no less great Binet and Fer6. 
Not as a hypnotist, however, did Anatole think 
of soliciting his aid but simply as a thoroughly 
“ wide-awake” American, “ posted” on all new 
inventions, “ well up ” in every department of 
knowledge and gifted with a “ sharpness ” that 
seemed intuition for “ seeing into things.” 

With more amusement than he permitted to 


BLACK MAGIC SIMPLIFIED. 


271 


appear in his countenance, Doctor Perkins 
listened to Anatole’s tale of anxieties and bewil- 
derments in all its details. In concluding it, the 
young man said, in a tone of passionate appeal : 

“ So there you have all the facts. Please tell 
me frankly what you think of them. How could 
that charming but alarming young lady see such 
things in her infernal crystal ball ? How could 
that diabolic machine know the precise moments 
in which to spur her application to seeing them ? 
And what is she going to think of me if she con- 
tinues those too well-directed gropings into the 
infinite after the petty details of my private life 
prior to my acquaintance with her?” 

The cr^’-stal-ball part of your somewhat com- 
plicated problem,” replied Doctor Perkins, 
good-humoredly, “ is simple enough. The age 
in which rock-crystal was supposed to have 
inherent magical properties has gone by. A 
fixed gazing upon it by one whose cerebro- 
spinal system is supersensitive is apt to result in 
the somnambulistic state of self-induced hypno- 
tism to which Doctor VV. B. Fahnestock, in 1871, 
gave the name of ‘ statu volism.’ But the same 
effect would be produced if the ball were of glass 
or polished metal. As you are, of course, aware, 
the clairvoyant, in the somnambulistic state, has 
what we may call psychic knowledge of things 
remote in time and space, as well as those which 
are near, and even of the thoughts of such 
persons as are en rapport with her. Is her sight 




WORKING THE ORACLE. 


limitea to such things as are already in the con- 
sciousness of some human being which she can 
penetrate ? That is a moot question. What it 
is of her that sees, how it sees and why it is so 
independent as it seems to be of the laws govern- 
ing our waking life, science has by no means 
conclusively settled as yet. For the present, we 
may as well accept the facts as known, without 
worrying our heads over the greatest puzzle of 
the age. The somnambule’s attention being 
fixed on the crystal ball, she sees and hears in 
that pellucid mass the things which are purely 
subjective in her consciousness only — or, at least, 
she imagines she does, which, for all practical 
purposes, amounts to the same thing. That’s 
all there is about that.” 

“ All right so far, doctor ; I understand that. 
But how about that mechanical raven, with its 
tireless croak of ‘ Go on — tell — speak — let 's have 
more of it ?’ ” 

“ I think you said that once it spoke while she 
was speaking ?” 

“ Yes.” 

“ Evidently she has had the ingenious idea of 
making the phonograph supply the place of a 
hypnotize!*, whose commands would compel her 
to put her visions into speech. Without such 
commands, the hypnotee is very apt to relapse 
into silence, absorbed in the visions presented to 
her psychic sight and disinclined for vocal 
effort. This Madame Girard has probably 


BLACK MAGIC SIMPLIFIED. 


273 


learned and provides against by loading a phono- 
graph cylinder with injunctions, at such intervals 
of time as experience has taught her might be 
necessary to enforce her continued speaking.” 

“ It did seem to be a squeaking imitation of 
her voice.” 

“ Hers, no doubt. It would be sufficient for 
the purpose. The conscious command of her 
waking self, repeated to her sleeping self, would 
be obeyed, just as if it were uttered by another 
person en rapport with her.” 

“ But — why should she take all that trouble 
to make herself talk ?” 

“ The somnambule has, upon awaking, no 
remembrance of the visions seen in sleep. My 
friend, you would be justified in fearing that 
woman. She has too much cunning for any 
mere man. If you could have looked into that 
portion of the room below your line of sight, I 
am sure you would have seen a second phono- 
graph recording every word she uttered.” 

“ Ah ! Her reporter !” 

“ Precisely. She awakes, knowing nothing 
but that she has been asleep. But that does not 
trouble her. All she has to do is to reverse the 
apparatus and listen. The phonograph will not 
lie.” 

“ It won’t, eh? Well, that is just what it has 
got to do, or I shall be ruined. Could we not, 
with Amandine’s aid, substitute a specially 
instructed cylinder?” 


274 


WORKING THE ORACLE. 


“ I fear that scheme would not work. To 
command her confidence it would have to be 
* loaded ’ by her own voice. She would detect 
an imposition at once.” 

“ But there must be some way. Come ! 
Think one out. I appeal to you as an American. 
What is the use of being an American if you 
cannot find out some plan for doing anything?” 

“ There ’s something in that. I reckon I shall 
have to, if only for the national reputation.” 

He lighted a pipe and cogitated. 

Anatole protested : 

“ If you do not, 1 know very well what will 
happen. Madame Girard will only require to 
peruse a few more chapters of my biography — 
with the prejudices women have — when she 
will give me my dismissal. Then — I shall hang 
myself.” 

“ I do not think you will come to that. 1 
already have my plan,” replied the doctor. 

What the plan was and how it worked out 
will, in good time, be seen ; for Anatole accepted 
it with enthusiasm, and the details were arranged 
at once. The two friends separated, with an 
engagement on the part of the doctor to present 
himself, early the next morning, at the apart- 
ments of Monsieur Duprez and a determination 
by Anatole to devote himself to a programme 
which should, he hoped, prevent Madame Girard 
again getting at her oracle in the interim. 

When she returned from her afternoon drive, 


BLACK MAGIC SIMPLIFIED. 


275 


he was waiting for her. He remained to dinner. 
Then he induced her to accompany him to the 
opera. When the curtain had fallen on the last 
act, he persuaded her to partake of a little sup- 
per with him. So he managed that her time 
was well occupied until as late an hour as pos- 
sible ; and, as far as was practicable, he utilized 
every minute of the time in declaring to her his 
passionate devotion and vowing life-long fidelity. 
That she did not hear him without interest was 
evident ; but when he pressed her to accept his 
hand as well as his heart, she was coy, banter- 
ingly reminded him they were almost strangers, 
coquettishly affirmed that the glibness of his 
love-making betrayed an appalling amount of 
practice in amorous protestation and, withal, 
evaded giving him a positive answer. But, at 
the last moment, she relented so far as to promise 
that in the afternoon of the next day she would 
end his suspense with either “ yes ” or “ no.” 

“ And I would wager my neck,” said Anatole 
to himself, as he went up to his apartments, 
“ that which it will be depends upon the inspira- 
tion she gets from the crystal ball to-morrow. 
And it shall be ‘ yes,’ for we will work the 
oracle.” 



CHAPTER V. 

SUBORNING THE HONEST PHONOGRAPH. 

At eleven o’clock the next morning, Josef 
reported another tug at the thread tied to his 
thumb, after the fashion of the day before. 

Come quickly !” said Doctor Perkins to Ana- 
tole, with whom he was awaiting the signal. It 
is essential to the success of our experiment that 
we make haste. I must get control of her before 
she has become self-hypnotized, as otherwise my 
attempt might only throw her into convulsions.” 

They rapidly descended the stairs and were 
met by Amandine, who noiselessly conducted 
them to the closet. 

“ Madame Girard, at the moment when they 
beheld her through the little window, was 
already seated and just about to fix upon the 
crystal ball the fixed gaze which would quickly 
transport her consciousness across the borders 
of the unknown. Doctor Perkins, to his great 
satisfaction, recognized her at once as a woman 
who had, upon several occasions, under a pledge 
that her incognito should be respected, offered 
[276] 


SUBORNING THE HONEST PHONOGRAPH. 277 

herself as a subject for his experiments and had 
demonstrated unusual sensitiveness. He had 
imagined her only motive a desire to enjoy the 
deep sleep of the hypnotee, but now suspected 
her of having had a deliberate purpose to de- 
velope such neurotic conditions as would readily 
induce statuvolism. Whatever might have been 
the object in view, one result was certain: that 
rapport had been permanently established be* 
tween her and her hypnotizer which would ever 
after give him easy and certain control. It was, 
therefore, with perfect confidence of success that 
he extended toward her his hands, formulating 
in his mind, with a concentrated effort of will, 
the command : “Sleep! I will it.” The palms of 
his hands were downward ; the fingers extended, 
their points converging but not touching each 
other ; his attitude, that of authority ; his coun- 
tenance, expressive of firmness and profound 
calm.. In a few seconds, without a struggle or 
even a glance at the crystal, Madame Girard 
sank back in her easy-chair in a deep sleep. 

“ She is one of the best subjects I ever encoun- 
tered,” remarked the doctor, in his natural tone 
of voice. 

“ S-h ! For Heaven’s sake! You will wake 
her up. Don’t you see the window is open?” 
whispered Anatole, anxiously. 

“ Oh ! There ’s no danger of her awakening 
until I tell her to do so. I have captured the 
control. Come, now ; let us go round to her.” 


278 


WORKING THE ORACLE. 


Amandine then conducted them to the door of 
the apartment hitherto sacred to ** madame's 
magic.” They opened it, raised a portiere and 
entered. Anatole still walked upon tip-toe, not 
altogether assured of the continuance of that 
sleep which seemed to him too sudden to be reli- 
able ; but Doctor Perkins moved with as much 
freedom as if in his lecture-room and, after a 
glance to see that no machinery had yet been 
set in motion, spoke as loudly as in ordinary 
conversation. 

“Admirable!” he said, chucklingly. “How 
well she has arranged her surroundings of light 
and color ! I wonder if she evolved them her- 
self or has had instruction. And there, you see, 
as I told you, the second phonograph, ready to 
do its part. She has not started it yet and you 
will see, if you examine, the cylinder is quite 
clean of impressions. With what pretty stories 
if might be filled if we were not to interfere.” 

“ You make my blood run cold by the sug- 
gestion.” 

“ It is only a fancy ; we are here to prevent its 
becoming a reality. Now comes the difficult 
part of my work. When that cylinder commences 
revolving, we must be absolutely silent, for the 
slightest noise will infallibly be transferred to it, 
and it will never do to have it squeak at her, 
when she awakes, anything else than her own 
words and the admonitory chirpings of the other 
instrument. Hence, all my effect must be by 


SUBORNING THE HONEST PHONOGRAPH. 279 

mental suggestion. I should hesitate at attempt- 
ing such an extraordinary telepathic feat, if I 
were not assured of the perfect rapport between 
us. But, under the existing conditions, it will be 
a charming and, I am sure, successful experi- 
ment. And now — to business !” 

He started both phonographs, placed himself 
near to Madame Girard, gazing steadily upon 
her, and waited. Presently the little, shrill voice 
of mechanical inquisitiveness demanded: 

“ Well, what do you see ? Tell me !” 

Being, as she was, under the more powerful 
control of a living h3^pnotizer, the somnambule 
could not have heard that sound except by his 
direction ; but, as he willed it, she was con- 
scious of the summons and, after a little hesi- 
tancy, replied : 

“ I see Anatole. He is sitting alone in his 
room, going over a book of accounts. He closes 
it with a gratified expression and says to him- 
self: ‘That does not turn out badly. Fifty 
thousand francs are a neat profit on the transac- 
tion. Ah ! The love of that dear Madame 
Girard is truly a mascot to me. She makes me 
happier, better, richer.’ ” 

Anatole grinned and softly rubbed his hands 
together in an ecstasy of enjoyment. Doctor 
Perkins made an imperative gesture of warning 
not to distract his attention. The widow went 
on : 

“ He takes off his boots, puts on his slippers 


280 


WORKING THE ORACLE. 


and looks upon his table for something to read, 
sighing as he does so: ‘ Ah, it is lonesome away 
from my dear Madame Girard— my sweet 
Natalie! What a delicious little name! So 
musical ! The very sound of it is a caress.’ ” 
What do you see now? Tell me!” ques- 
tioned the instrument of clockwork authorit}^ 
sharply. 

She continued without seeming to hear it : 

“ He takes up a book, a ‘ Treatise on the Moral 
Duties,’ to which he devotes his attention. He 
says to himself : ‘ That is good. Such a man, a 

husband, a father, I shall be when I marry Nat- 
alie.’ His valet brings to him a card. The name 
upon it is that of ‘ M. Claude Berthillot.’ The 
visitor enters and is cordially received by him. 
They chat about things of indifference — the 
weather — the new minister. Monsieur Berthillot 
asks Anatole if he is not going out. He replies 
that he is not. Monsieur Berthillot insists that 
he shall participate in a jolly supper with two of 
their friends and four girls of the opera ballet. 
Anatole refuses. He says : ‘ I have, definitely 
and forever, my dear Claude, abandoned such 
frivolities. They never were to me anything 
more than the distractions of idle hours, but 
even so much they cannot be to me any more.’ 
‘But,’ says his friend, ‘how about the little 
Nanon, who will expect to see you?’ ‘You 
know very well, my friend,’ replies Anatole, 
‘ that my friendship for Nanon was simply Pla- 


SUBORNING THE HONP]ST PHONOGRAPH. 281 


tonic.’ ‘True,’ responds Monsieur Berthillot, 
‘ but she is very jolly. And what are you going 
to do with yourself — turn monk?’ ‘No; some- 
thing infinitely better,’ answers Anatole, with 
enthusiasm.” 

‘‘Well, continue! What else do you see?” 
interrupted the speaking cylinder. 

‘‘ ‘ I am going to marry — at least 1 hope I am 
— the best and most charming woman in the 
world, whom 1 love with all my soul and in 
whom I hope to find all my future happiness. 
The pure affection she inspires causes me to 
look with disgust upon the follies of the past, in 
which, indeed, my heart never was engaged. 1 
am done forever with the club, the race-course, 
Nanon and all the rest.’ ‘ You mean that you are 
done frivoling if this charming woman accepts 
you ?’ ‘ In any event, my reformation is com- 

plete. The eyes of my soul have been opened by 
my love. If she should plunge me in despair by 
her rejection, I would probably go far away — 
Egypt — the north pole — Chicago — somewhere 
— and die in solitude of a broken heart. That is 
all.’ ‘ And who,’ inquires Monsieur Berthillot, 
‘if I may be permitted to ask, is the woman for 
whom you contemplate such sacrifices?’ ‘ None 
other than Mme. Natalie Girard, the loveliest of 
her sex, of whose white soul I aspire to make 
myself worthy and whose affection would be to 
me the greatest earthly blessing.’ ” 

She was silent. 


282 


WORKING THE ORACLE. 


Doctor Perkins looked inquiringly at Anatole, 
who nodded his emphatic approval of that as a 
good point to stop at. In vain the phonograph 
insisted : 

“ Well, you have not finished. Go on ! Tell 
me all ! You must see and tell me !” 

The somnambule did not hear it. 

“ In ten minutes you will awake, remember- 
ing nothing,” was Doctor Perkins’s final mental 
command to the sleeper. 

The two gentlemen went together up to the 
rooms of Monsieur Duprez, who was in high 
spirits. 

“ How well you covered every point !” he 
exclaimed delightedly. 

“ It is an American maxim,” replied the doctor, 
“ that, whatever one undertakes, he should ‘ do 
his level best.’” 

***** 

That afternoon, when M. Anatole Duprez 
called upon Mme. Natalie Girard for her prom- 
ised answer to his proposal of yesterday, she 
said to him, with both smiles and tears in her 
eyes : 

“ You have been, I fear, rather a wild boy in 
the past ; but I believe you love me — and— yes.” 


THE END. 


A French Detective Novel. 


THE FROLER CASE. 

BY 

J. L. JACOLLIOT. 

Translated from the French by H. O. Cooke. 

ILLUSTRATED BY A. W. VAN DEUSEN. 

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After the Russian of Count Nepomuk Czapski. 


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ILLUSTRATED BY WALTER M. DUNK. 


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A New Translation from Balzac. 


LOVE 


(L* Envers de 1’ Histoire Contemporaine.) 


a JToneL 


FROM THE FRENCH OF 

HONORE DE BALZAC. 


TRANSLATED BY 

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A PRIESTESS OF COMEDY. 

(COMODIE.) 


BY 

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Translated from the German by Elise L. Lathrop. 


ILLUSTRATED BY WARREN B. DAVIS. 


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MYNHEER JOE. 


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46. 

47. 


48 

49 


60 


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— T HE little countess. 
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51 

52 

53 


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64 


65 

66 
67 


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68.-LIDA CAMPBEIili, or Drama of a 
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59. -EDITH TREVOirS t?4ECRET. By 

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